Page 94 of The Verdant Cage
Jarek glances over, his expression making clear he wouldn’t mind trading out Gryphon for me against that wall. Instead, he grinds his forearm into his son’s neck a little harder—enough that Gryphon’s face drains of blood—before he releases him. Then he strides over to me, fury radiating. I can’t believe he’s leaving his back open. Then again, I suppose he knows his son poses no threat. I wonder what it will take for Gryphon to finally stand up to his father.
“Misia will be watching you,” Jarek snarls into my face, so near that flecks of spittle land on my cheeks. When I make no response, he spins on his heel. “Gryphon, you and Leonidas are on perimeter patrol. We have traitors in our midst. We must flush them out.”
Another snipe hunt for Gryphon. I’m almost impressed at how completely his father is committing to the traitor story, keeping it up behind the scenes when he knows we know the lie of it. I suppose, in a way, Jarek truly believes what he’s saying. Not that anyone besides him is hoarding food and weapons, but I bet anyone who doesn’t enthusiastically follow him looks like a traitor from where he’s sitting.
To those who choose darkness, light is the enemy.
“See you later,” I tell Gryphon. I suddenly feel drunk with terrible knowledge, high on hopelessness.
“You will not,” Misia says, bristling. “You’ll be confined to your room, alone. It’s only proper the night before your wedding.”
“Little late for that,” I snort.
I don’t know where my impudence is coming from, but I don’t hate it, either. They’ve already lied to me and imprisoned me. Whipped my friends and killed my mother and Harvested my brother. The least I deserve is a bit of rebellion. My boldness seems to alarm Gryphon, though. He glides around his father and steps up to me, his hand soft on my cheek. He leans toward my ear, breath sweet and sizzling.
“Trust,” he says, “and don’t do anything reckless.” He lingers a moment longer than etiquette allows, breathing in the scent of me. Then he walks away with his father, leaving me weak-kneed. I’m not sure who or what I’m meant to trust, but I’ll give him this: his delivery is excellent.
“Inside,” Misia orders.
“I need to use the bathroom.” It’s the truth. I can’t remember the last time I went.
Misia appears ready to argue but instead leads us both to the rear of the cottage, electing to wait outside the door like she’s worried I’ll bolt. Two Guardians are stationed at the base of the ladder leading to the rooftop charging station. Are they protecting it from my friends, locked up in the chapel basement? Seems unlikely. I recall what Gran said about more people being on the side of right than I know, think of Uncle Richard’s “we” breaking us out of jail.
Well, I wish those folks would show themselves.
I use the toilet, then wash my face and hands. I also strip the dirty bandages off my stitches and the cut on my shoulder and gently wash the tender flesh. They’re both still free of the heat of infection. I dig through the assortment of shampoos, soaps, and scents I’d prepared just days earlier—though it feels like a lifetime—until I find the little pot of balm I’d tucked away. Past Rose gets a star for her foresight, though at the time I assumed I’d need it for Gryphon’s injuries, not my own. I slather my wounds with fresh salve and manage to apply clean bandages before Misia starts pounding on the door and telling me that either I’m coming out or she’s coming in.
I choose the former.
Back inside the cottage, I’m allowed a quick meal of cold porridge and then it’s straight to the bedroom, where I’m left alone with my thoughts. They all lead to the same place: Jonas might be alive, waiting for me, and I must get to him. He might be dead, prey to our supposed protector, and still I must get to him. We also have to find a way to stop Jarekandthe Verdant Beast. Maybe now that I finally know everything we’re up against, Mom’s journal will reveal clues I couldn’t have seen before. I reach under the mattress for it, but my fingertips brush empty air. My heart plummets. I check again.
It’s gone.
Heart thudding, I walk to the wardrobe.
Gryphon’s sketches are also no longer here.
They’ve stripped us of what gives us hope.
.
After I change into clean clothes and rebind my hair into its buns, all that’s left to do is pace the room: door, cupboard, bed, desk. Door, cupboard, bed, desk. My thoughts are black. Occasionally, noises draw me to the window. Guardians hassling someone to get back to their duties. Carpenters putting the final touches on an enormous construction just beyond my line of sight. Popping sounds that remind me of the flash bangs—more training for blowing up the Wall?
Jarek will doom us all.
Forty some-odd Guardians against the unknowable force that brought down our Founders’ world? It’ll be carnage. How time has flipped our roles—it’s us inside who now need protection from what’s out there, rather than the other way around. In that way, we aren’t too different than I always thought…and I guess that’s what Gran meant.
Door, cupboard, bed, desk. Door, cupboard, bed, desk.
The confinement is making my skin crawl. I wonder who has my mother’s journal. I refuse to believe it’s Jarek, because Mom would hate that. Perhaps one of his lackeys, then. Maybe even the one who searched our greenhouse the day I found it.Good luck decoding it, I huff.
Hours of pacing crescendos into something like a hypnotic trance. With it come memories of my father braiding my hair, images so clear that I reach out for him. Jonas trying to tell me a joke, pealing with laughter before he ever reaches the punchline. My mother singing, her voice lavender honey.
Eventually, I collapse on the bed. I think I don’t sleep, but when I startle awake, it’s pitch-black out. I blink, my wounds throbbing and my legs tight. I massage my calves, oddly furious with myself. I’ve been waiting for a sign to spur my destiny.
There has only ever been me.
Steal Jarek’s explosives. Ascend the Wall. Find my brother.
