Page 10 of The Verdant Cage
As if he doesn’t know we didn’t make the walk, and why. “At my house,” I spit out.
He steps toward me, and I tense, heart clobbering against my ribs. I’m pulling my knees toward my chest, preparing to kick him in the stomach, when I realize he’s not coming to me at all. He’s striding to the door, picking his shirt up from the floor as he goes.
I yank the blanket up to my neck, wishing I could cut holes in it for my head and arms and wear it like a dress. Beyond the bedroom, I hear what sounds like an argument. Gryphon’s voice. His mother’s, low and savage.
Then silence.
The bedroom door slams open seconds later. I jump, still clutching the blanket.
“Your things will be fetched for you tomorrow,” Gryphon says. “For tonight, wear this. I’m afraid I don’t have anything cleaner to offer.”
He tosses me his shirt, then strides to the wardrobe to pull out what looks like spare bedding. While his back is to me, I hurry to tug the shirt on beneath the blanket. It smells of the night, of pine trees, of Gryphon.
“Don’t do me any more favors,” I mutter, threading my arms through the sleeves.
He tenses but doesn’t say a word as he lays a blanket and pillow on the floor.
5
Jonas.
I blink the sleep grit out of my eyes.
I’d been dreaming that he and I were playing in a field, weaving dandelion chains and chasing frogs when we were supposed to be gathering chamomile blossoms for Gran. He’d been laughing at something, laughing so hard his face sprang a leak. But then the laughter turned to tongue-swallowing fear as Jarek appeared, hoisted him over his shoulder, and marched him toward Eden’s Gate.
I woke just as my brother was slammed into the Harvest basket.
I lie in Gryphon’s bed, memory carving my mind with a dull blade as yesterday’s horror returns in waves. Jonas, standing over my mother’s body, gripping a bloodless knife. Tomris holding me back. Augustus the Plumber’s odd expression. Did he see who murdered my mom? Did he do it himself?
Jonas must not know who the killer was or he’d certainly have said something. He’d simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Punished for trying to save his own mother, for doing what he’d trained his whole life for.
My blood ices as Jonas’s final words return to me.
I didn’t kill her. You’ll find the truth in the Record Keeper cottage. Go to the vault.
What had he seen? How did it connect to our mother’s death? And am I seriously considering sneaking into the Record Keeper vault to find out who the true killer is? With a pang of acceptance, I realize that I am. Without this final connection to Jonas, I’ll drown in the rising tide of my grief. Plus, my mother deserves justice.
I peek over the side of the bed, making as little noise as possible. Thankfully, Gryphon’s gone, his blanket folded and stacked neatly beneath his pillow. I don’t like that I didn’t hear him go.
I slide out of bed, feeling Gryphon’s shirt brush against my skin. There was a time, not so long ago, when wearing his clothes would have made me feel close to him in a way I only allowed myself to dream about. Now the fabric is merely a reminder of all I’ve lost since yesterday.
I steel myself for the day and tiptoe into the hall and down the stairs (with far less grace than my betrothed, if the floorboards squeaking loudly beneath me are any indication).
“Look who finally decided to join us,” Misia says, perched near the stove. Any pretense of a smile, of her and me being in this together, is gone. Whatever Gryphon said to her last night, she’s clearly still upset by it. She takes in his undershirt, raising her eyebrows. “At least you got right to work.”
My scalp tightens.Eww, I think. My mother never would have said that to Gryphon.Not for the first time, I wonder what it was like to grow up with Misia and Jarek for parents. I don’t correct her, though. I need her trust if I’m to get into that vault and find my mother’s killer.
“I didn’t realize Apothecaries enjoyed such leisurely mornings,” Misia continues. “Breakfast’s gone. You’ll have to wait for dinner to eat.” She indicates the dirty dishes stacked on the table and the crusted porridge pot on the stove. “But you can clean up now.”
“Sorry,” I say reflexively, though her words sting. The Apothecary House works all hours, every day, which means we steal rest when we can. Only profound grief accounts for why I slept past sunrise.
My apology softens her shoulders. “Well, no need to grovel. Your laziness is being punished. Turns out there isn’t another wedding to tack you onto until next week, and you can’t begin training until you’re officially a member of our House. A Guardian’s instruction is sacred—that’s one rule I refuse to bend. You’ll cook and clean while you’re waiting. You may also preview our texts, but don’t get too comfortable. We’re not Record Keepers, rotting away with our noses stuck in books.” She tucks in her chin as if I’ve said a word in disagreement. “We’re Guardians. We protect, we serve, and wedon’tcause trouble for the Valley. I’m led to believe you’re better than your brother in that regard, at least.”
“Understood.” I manage to keep my voice submissive despite her jab. Does she know about Jonas’s trip to the vault? It’s not like it was his first infraction. The boy never met a curfew he could keep.
“May I visit the Apothecary cottage today?” I ask. “To get my things?”
“I told you I would,” she says sharply.
