Page 70 of The Verdant Cage
“Your aunt and uncle couldn’t make it to our dinner,” Misia says, her voice syrupy with faux disappointment. “An illness in the Plumber House they had to tend to.”
My eyes fly to Jarek. Had he gotten word of the heresy Augustus shared with me? Had his Guardians hurt the Plumber family? But the man’s face gives away nothing.
“The youngest was sent home from school with what might be the flu,” Gran says. She appears surprisingly alert, her voice clear, shaded with the perfect tinge of regret. “Must be the start of the season.”
Oscar keeps glancing urgently down at his arm and back up at me, moving only his eyes. It’s like they’re trying to escape his head.Why is he here?The Seingalts and the Khans are friendly with the Tzus. Irma, impossibly, appears to be cooking for us, like a servant of yore. And Gran is clearly here as a reminder of the power Jarek and Misia hold over me. But Oscar?
You were at Oscar’s trying on your dress.
That’s when I realize it’s not his arm he’s looking at. It’s his shirt.Clothes. I finally understand. “It was so kind of you to invite me to your home this afternoon to see the progress you’d made on my wedding dress, Oscar.”
His head droops in relief.
Misia’s lip curls. “We were concerned when you didn’t arrive with your Tailor.”
Oscar tugs surreptitiously at his collar.
Another leap. “I was changing out of the dress. No reason for both of us to keep you waiting.”
Jarek appears bored with the exchange. “I’m hungry.”
“I think it’s done,” Irma says, turning to peek inside the oven, “but I can’t be sure.”
“It’ll be done enough,” Jarek mutters. He reaches for a basket of fresh bread—bread that wasn’t here when I left this morning—and pulls out a potato roll. He squishes it into a ball and shoves the whole thing in his mouth. I feel sick to my stomach, imagining how Marie would have savored it. I lose the thought quickly, though, as every nerve in my body calls out that I’m in danger.
I just don’t know what kind.
“It was so nice of the Tzus to invite us all over,” Gran says to no one in particular. Her cheeks are pale and shiny. I hope they didn’t make her walk here. “It’s been so long since I’ve enjoyed dinner at another’s House.”
Irma pulls a large pan out of the oven. She struggles to lift it.
Gryphon goes to help her, leaving me standing near the door. When I spot the monstrosity he brings to the table, I wish I still had him to lean on. It’s an enormous pink mound of meat, larger than a newborn lamb. I’ve never seen flesh that size cooked whole, only flecks of it swimming in stew or pie, or strips cut and dried.
“What is that?” I blurt out.
Jarek smiles. “It smells wonderful, doesn’t it? It’s a wild pig harvested from the woods.”
Gryphon maneuvers the roasting pan to the center of the table, setting it between bowls of steaming corn, baked plums, whipped potatoes, and a pot of garlic butter. It’s a feast, but the idea of keeping it to ourselves while the village slowly starves sours my appetite.
“A pig?” I know from our books that they were large, tube-shaped animals with stubby legs and snouts for noses. The male, called a pigboar, had razor-sharp tusks. I’d never seen them inside the Wall, and this huge meat lump? It could be any creature. There’s no head, no legs. Just roasted flesh in the shape of a giant loaf of bread.
Gryphon shakes his head at me, once, quickly, his meaning clear.
Don’t eat it.
My belly burbles uneasily.
“Sit,” Misia commands me. “Irma has been kind enough to cook us dinner. You disrespect her by standing.”
That would be true if this was Irma’s home, but it’s not, which means we disrespect her by not offering her foodwe’vecooked. I catch Irma staring at the table with open hunger. It’s mealtime across the village, and she’s surely worked a full day, just like the rest of us. Why is she being forced to labor for someone else’s meal, preparing food she can’t eat?
“Please, Irma,” I say, ignoring Misia’s glare as I claim the open seat beside my grandmother. “Will you sit next to me? I want to hear about your schoolwork while we eat.”
“She’s done, aren’t you, girl?” Misia says. “Thank you for your help. We can take it from here.”
Irma nods and removes her apron, curtsying to Gryphon’s mother like we’re in chapel. She throws a final, longing glance at the table and disappears out the door.
Jarek removes the knife from his belt, stroking its mother-of-pearl handle. Without cleaning it, he slices off a hunk of the meat. “Who wants some?”
