Page 4 of The Verdant Cage
Who’d risk that?
I realize I’ve stopped moving, brow furrowed as I stare toward the chapel. The entire Valley is watching me. I want to unzip myself and step out of my skin. Thankfully, a village girl scurries forward, drawing everyone’s attention.
She offers me a dozen breathtaking roses.
I’ve never seen my namesake up close before, and I’m momentarily enchanted by the riot of deep scarlet, each flower unfolding like layered velvet. Their scent is thick and heady, a swirl of honeyed spice and damp earth so captivating that I almost miss the row of needle-sharp thorns.
As I accept the bouquet, I see the child was not so lucky.
I recognize her as Agnes of the Beekeeper House, no more than six years old. A barbed thorn is embedded in her palm, blood beading its edges. She’s trying to act like it doesn’t bother her, perhaps hoping I won’t notice, but my world has already narrowed to the two of us. I set the roses beside me so I can press on the edges of the puncture, forcing out a fresh stream of blood, and with it, the thorn’s jagged tip. She whimpers but allows my ministrations, a proper child of the Valley.
Her blood, once flowing, is reluctant to stop, so I grab the only accessible cloth—a chunk of my ribboned hem, embroidered with Valley symbols over many late nights to ensure that my marriage is blessed with good luck and healthy children. Ah, well. Every Apothecary knows the urgent eclipses the eventual. I wrap the fabric around Agnes’s wound. She hops up and shyly kisses my cheek before disappearing into the crowd. Mother will surely scold me for holding up the wedding ceremony, but I’m still an Apothecary, at least until I’m married.
I grab my bouquet and hurry forward just as the band switches to “The Groom’s Ballad.” This is the villagers’ cue to part like water.
Revealing my betrothed.
Dressed in his wedding red, Gryphon Tzu is painfully handsome. Golden-brown skin, shining black hair, onyx-dark eyes above a strong nose, generous, soft-looking lips that make my cheeks blaze. My childhood best friend—until we fell out—is now my groom, assigned to me only after my original betrothed was honored with a Harvest.
Gryphon’s cold stare makes it clear he’s just as unhappy about the match as I am.
I tug a lock of hair over the plum-size birthmark above my right eye and hurry forward, trying to focus on all the reasons I have to be grateful. I am a citizen of Noah’s Valley. One of the privileged few. As the world outside began to fall, our Founders gathered the best and brightest and built this paradise. They gave us limestone caves, freshwater springs, and dense forests. Planted crops, built insect farms and apiaries, and stocked creeks with trout and wild rice. They filled our barns with livestock and provided textbooks, medicines, and tools for their descendants.
They also built the Harvest basket that glides up our Wall at Eden’s Gate, plus a handful of sustainable machines: a waterwheel for plumbing, solar-powered lights, geothermal heating, an icehouse to preserve meat. Our wise ancestors created the Houses we’d need to sustain our paradise, from the Engineers to the Carpenters to my own—for a few more minutes, at least—Apothecary House.
To honor our Founders, we live by their creed: mandatory attendance at ceremonies, chapel, and school; humane labor laws; arranged betrothals and House assignments; and once a month, we Harvest the one to preserve resources for the many.
I’m so very lucky to do my part.
That’s what I’m reminding myself as I walk across the square toward Gryphon, where he waits in front of the stage, though the distance feels endless. When I reach the halfway point, “The Groom’s Ballad” becomes “The Walk to the Wall,” thunderous and demanding.
Get on with this, it prods me, the drums pounding in time with my heart.
There’s no elegance as I hurry forward, but there is speed. I smooth my dress and feel something hard, like an acorn, in my pocket. Startled, I reach in, half expecting to find the vial of digitalis extract somehow still inside. Instead, I glance into the beady eyes of a tiny, wooden rabbit. It’s a perfect replica of Lucky Bunny, a character from our favorite bedtime story. Lucky Bunny always got out of the worst scrapes, no matter what.
Jonas must have snuck me this on the walk here.
And just like that, I find my courage.
I tuck the toy back into my pocket, feeling such warmth that it’s all I can do not to find my brother and bundle him into a hug in front of the crowd. He would’ve made a wonderful toymaker, if such a profession existed in the Valley. My eyes widen as I realize I’ve just thought heresy, and this time directly at Jonas!
I amnotmyself today.
The music is still ringing out as Aunt Florence and Uncle Richard appear at the end of the bridal path to stand beside Gryphon. Aunt Florence is blinking back happy tears, and my uncle’s chest is so puffed up with pride that I worry he’ll pop his burgundy vest’s deer-bone buttons. The thought of no longer working alongside them hurts like a physical pain, but in honor of their obvious love for me, I decide to stop feeling like a thumb wearing a dress and stand tall.
You’re a proper Valley bride, I tell myself. Act like it.
I adjust my posture and lengthen my stride, managing to keep my gaze unwavering, though I’m desperate to catch a glimpse of Jonas. He should be standing with my aunt and uncle. Come to think of it, where’s Mom? She wouldn’t miss this, no matter what duties called. She’d want to ensure I did everything perfectly. The two of them must be traveling through the crowd, as the Council requested, searching for signs of the Vex. We haven’t seen symptoms in weeks—not since the Apothecaries quarantined the outbreak zone—but until we know the cause of the illness, we can’t let our guard down.
The villagers staring at me all seem bright-eyed, no evidence of the bluish-gray pallor associated with the illness, though I spot a girl from the Waste Management House with a lacy rash near her left ear, and is that clubbing I see on the fingers of the Insect Farmer? I’ll have to examine them both later.
No, I remind myself,I’ll tell Jonas to look at them. The correction makes me numb inside, yet my feet keep moving. The drums are so noisy. Have they always been this deafening? Like a nail being driven into my skull. Suddenly, three beats louder than the rest startle me.
POUND POUND POUND
Then, to my great relief, the music stops.
The respite lasts a second before a scream pierces the air, sharp and shrill. The villagers to my right gasp and stagger back, like they’re trying to peel away from something awful. I hurry toward the commotion, shedding nerves as my brain organizes for a potential emergency. Likely Mom and Jonas will reach the patient first, but are their medical kits appropriately stocked? I wish I’d been allowed to keep mine.
