Page 72 of The Verdant Cage
“It’s not complete.” It takes all my effort not to look to Oscar.
“Surely it’snearlyfinished, though,” Marina murmurs. “The wedding is just around the corner.”
“Unless you lied to us, Oscar,” Misia says, “about your ability to finish it in time.”
The room is suddenly, inexplicably pulsing with anger. Misia stands, an unsheathed dagger appearing in her hand. I jump up, dashing to insert myself between her and Oscar. Gryphon is on his feet nearly as quickly.
“The beadwork!” I interject. “I love the beadwork. It’s much prettier than my own.”
Misia is panting now. She’s so close that I can smell meat and sour drink on her breath. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Gryphon inching closer.
“Oscar is doing a beautiful job,” I say softly. Light glints off the knife in her hand. “He’ll have it done in plenty of time.”
Misia blinks. Her eyes regain focus. It’s like she returns to the room, turning to take a long draw of her drink before dropping back into her chair. The breath empties from my lungs. When Gryphon stands next to me, I see his hand is on his own blade.
“Now, where were we?” Jarek asks, as if that whole scene hadn’t just happened.
“You were talking about the Apothecary House when we all realized Rose wasn’t listening.” Marina’s eyes shimmer with malice. “You were saying that you’d like them to have a special seat of honor Friday.”
“Ah yes. Lillian, what do you think of that?”
We all turn our attention to Gran, who’s slumped over in her chair with her chin tucked into her chest.
“Gran!” I hurry to her, but Gryphon gets there first. He gently touches her neck and then leans his ear close to her head.
“She’s sleeping,” he says. He addresses his father. “You shouldn’t have ordered her attendance tonight.”
I feel like I’ve been punched. Heorderedher here? As if my gran was a Guardian in training?
Jarek raises a brow in warning. “I don’t believe I heard you. Care to repeat yourself?”
Gryphon shakes his head. “I do not. What I care to do is help Lillian get home.” We all watch as he gently lifts Gran into his arms.
“Put her down,” Jarek growls, “so she can apologize for falling asleep at the table and rejoin our conversation.”
I’ve never seen Gryphon openly defy his father. He goes still for a moment. I’m waiting for him to cower, to do his duty by Jarek as he always has. Instead, he walks Gran directly to me.
“Would you like to wish her good night?”
I’m still in shock, so it takes me a second to catch on to the incredible kindness he’s offering—the chance to check Gran’s pulse and breathing before he brings her home. He must understand I won’t have a moment of rest until I do. I blink furiously, refusing to cry. I kiss Gran’s cheek. Her breathing is regular. I touch her neck, noting with relief that her pulse is weak but normal.
“Thank you,” I say, for his ears alone.
Watching him carry her out the door, I’m humbled by a sudden realization.
Jonas couldn’t possibly have slipped free of Gryphon before his Harvest like I’d thought. My brother has always been thin—a healer, not a fighter. Gryphon has repeatedly established in village demonstrations that he’s one of the strongest Guardians in the Valley.
He had intentionally released my twin so we could say goodbye.
44
I say I’m not feeling well and go straight up to bed. The last thing I want to do is spend another second with this crowd. I feel guilty for abandoning Oscar, but not enough to stay. I’ll make it up to him somehow.
As soon as I reach Gryphon’s bedroom, I dig out Mom’s journal, for comfort more than anything. It’s exactly where I left it, buried beneath the mattress. I settle onto the floor, leaning against the bed, and light a candle. With my free hand, I roll Lucky Bunny between my fingers.
Reatha suspects something big is coming, and Misia and Jarek have as good as confessed to it being this Friday, same as my wedding. Is it tied to the herbicide he used to poison the industrial district? And another thing that’s been bugging me—why there?I shudder to imagine the casualties if he’d selected a well people actuallylikedto drink from.
A fat, hot tear splashes onto the journal’s worn leather, and I realize I’m crying. My mother figured out the Vex was a poison long ago enough to code the information into her notes and prepare those packets of charcoal. So why hadn’t she said anything to me?
