CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR #3
Catrin’s easy laughter waned, her still-parted lips accompanied by raised eyebrows. Vayen seemed to have surprised her.
“…All right then,” Catrin said with a soft shrug. She removed her muddied gloves and tossed them onto a nearby stool. “Lyssa, would you like to join me in the garden before you return home?”
Home. The word still conjured images of my castle, my bedchamber.
Of Tilda with her too-tight bun and Nora with her ever-present smile.
Of the ironbark forest I had come to think of as a sanctuary, a place of freedom.
Or, even more sorrowful, of Anise, whose dark hair and eyes had been curiously absent from my wandering mind in days past. A deep inhale washed those fading images away.
This was home now—I just needed my unthinking parts to recognize that.
“Yes, I would love to see your garden.” And by the time I looked back to see where Vayen had gone, she was nowhere to be found.
“This way,” Catrin beckoned. I was surprised when she stepped down off the porch and brought me through the narrow walkway between her shop and its neighbor, but I followed without hesitation.
It wasn’t until we emerged from between the wooden, moss-claimed buildings that I spotted misshapen stepping stones leading from Catrin’s back door deeper into the wood, right past the pleasant squares of herbs and vegetables lined with rocks.
I cast a furrowed brow towards the humble garden as Catrin brought us to a section of trees that had created something of a barrier, growing so close to one another I imagined their roots intertwined beneath our feet.
It looked fairly unnatural, the way they blocked out the light, but the impending darkness had no impact on Catrin’s pace.
She all but skipped over the stones, casting a playful smile my way as she palmed the dark, wet bark and slipped between two trees.
“I think you’ll be quite impressed with my garden,” Catrin called, still capably leading the way through the thicket.
“I’ve no doubt,” I huffed out as I climbed over exposed roots and shrubbery. I now understood why she’d been covered in mud and found myself questioning a white dress as gardening attire; my skirts, which were much darker in color, were already showing signs of succumbing to the grime.
I was grateful when Catrin’s momentum ceased. After freeing the hem of my dress from a rather large bramble, I bounded to her side, attention following the arm she extended towards what had to be the largest collection of plants I’d ever witnessed.
Before us was an expansive clearing. Clearing might not have been the right word, as the forest floor was hidden beneath a tangled web of flora, but the trees certainly had abandoned this section of Grenythwood Forest. The large trunks at its edge bowed towards the glade, shadowing a majority of the area save for a spotlight of sunshine bathing a towering plant with broad, spiked leaves.
As if the majority of the plant had been pruned, pale purple petals webbed with dark veins sprouted only from the highest stems, causing them to droop.
At each flower’s heart was a velvet pool of inky violet sprouting the veins like spilled dye seeping into parchment.
And there was so much more. I could not identify a single flower, herb, or shrub before me.
Not the puffy white mushrooms glowing faintly on the dim edges of the glade, nor the black blossoms of a wilting flower with odd yellow-green whiskers, or even the monstrous bloom that lay on the ground with its thick, fleshy petals flapping from a gaping, sharp-toothed center.
Never before had I seen a plant with strong, slender stems exploding with ghostly berries, nor had I laid eyes on those wide, ruby-red leaves clutching one another, smooth and glistening, acting as nature’s goblet as the previous night’s rainwater sloshed within.
Dozens upon dozens of them, each more remarkable than the next.
There was a plethora of knowledge within this glade, and for the very first time, I understood why someone might dedicate their life to studying plants.
To nothing more than this. It was more than a garden; it was a world in and of itself.
“Extraordinary.” I stepped forward, gazing in awe as a bloom with soft, indigo petals curled in on itself when I passed.
But none of the oddities before me could hold my attention for long.
My gaze continuously returned to those pale petals in the center of the glade and the sunlight that melted over them.
There was a faint cloying scent blanketing the space, and I knew that was where it originated.
I looked back at Catrin who seemed quite pleased as she observed my awestruck expression.
“Isn’t it lovely?” Before I could respond, she continued, “I’ve lost countless hours studying the flora here, and I still stumble upon something new from time to time.
Just the other day, those bright green baubles appeared out of nowhere!
Milo has yet to identify them, much to his dismay, as he’s quite obsessed with whether or not they’re edible.
That boy—the number of times I’ve stopped him from munching on poisonous plants… ”
I bit back a laugh, as that sounded very much like the Milo I had come to know since my arrival in Grenythwood.
“I can’t believe a place like this exists,” I said with a shake of my head, the words echoing in the still air around us.
“I couldn’t either, at first. But the forest has a way of providing.” Catrin waded through dark grey leaves seared with yellow-rimmed holes to reach a bench I hadn’t noticed until just then. “Come. Sit with me.”
With lifted skirts, I did my best not to trample anything underfoot. I plopped down beside her with a contented sigh, grateful to be breathing the frosted forest air. Even if my fingers and toes were gradually going numb as a result.
“I’ve received a payment for my tavern work,” I said casually, as if I hadn’t rephrased that sentence three or four times before uttering it.
Catrin gasped, turning her whole body to face me on the bench. She drew a leg up and rested an elbow atop her muddy knee, a smile pulling her features tight. “That is terrific news! What are you going to buy first?”
“I thought I might repay you for some of your kindness,” I admitted as I withdrew the bag of coin from my cloak pocket.
Not once in my life had I any need to discuss payment or currency, and I found my mouth quite dry as I spoke.
I cast a quick glance at Catrin’s face, fully expecting her to deny any attempt to repay her, but was pleasantly surprised when she instead snatched the coin purse from my hand.
“If you insist,” she muttered gleefully as she rummaged inside, the clinking and clacking of coins sounding throughout the glade.
When Catrin’s hand withdrew, she palmed two of the smallest coins—barely an eighth of what Winnie had paid me.
As if she could feel the protest before it left my mouth, she quickly added, “This will cover the pants; they should be ready any day now. Really, this is quite generous of you.”
“Oh, that’s not nearly enough for all that you’ve done…” But she had already shoved the coin back into my lap.
“Hush,” Catrin said, waving her hand dismissively. “You are my niece, after all.”
“If only.” I extended my hand once more only to be met with an upturned nose, so with a gentle roll of my eyes, I accepted defeat. In the end, I had more important matters to discuss with Catrin, so I braved the ensuing silence, considering my next words carefully.
If Grenythwood was to be my home, I deserved to learn more about its customs. For example, the blood pit.
Hideously named, though intriguing all the same.
It had clearly set everyone on edge, so how could Milo possibly be involved?
Who was Gavner? What was hollow henbane, and what did it have to do with the event everyone seemed intent on keeping me from?
But each question was a defensive variation of the words I felt clawing through my mind:
Why are people always keeping things from me?
Why do I have to fight tooth and nail to learn the truth?
Why is everyone in my life perpetually certain they know what is best for me, and so content with taking whatever action is necessary—including outright deception—to serve their beliefs in my fragility?
Why can’t anyone just be honest with me?
So when Catrin broke the silence with her gentle voice and patient cadence, I wasn’t quite sure how to respond.
“Is there something you’d like to ask me?” Her chin rested in her palm as she observed the garden before her, seemingly content to just exist in this otherworldly space.
I should have been vulnerable; Catrin had never given me a reason to think she wasn’t a safe person to ask questions of, or confide in. But I couldn’t summon those words from my lips.
“What is the blood pit?” I asked instead, attention returning to those sun-drenched petals and their dark veins. When was the last time a ray of sunlight had touched my skin?
The silence of the glade thickened around us, swallowing the errant birdsong and creaking wood.
I doubted very much that I would receive the answers I sought so I had no intention of rushing her.
Instead, I leaned further back into the bench, unconcerned when my braid flopped off its edge, dangling precariously above a luminescent mushroom.
I might not convince her to open up to me.
I might leave this garden with more questions than I’d entered it.
But at least one thing had changed from my time in Lunamor—I wasn’t putting myself in peril just by asking the question.
Before my thinking mind could comprehend, the now-healed wounds on my back lit up in remembrance.
Memories of white-hot pain, flesh parting, my own deafening screams piercing the quiet.
Knees quaking. Face pressed into the wooden trestle.
Again, again, and again. And the way my body writhed as though it weren’t my own.
“Knowledge is not for you, Alyssum. You should know better than to defy me.”
My jaw set as I swallowed the metallic saliva pooling in my mouth.
I was not there anymore, I reminded myself.
Father could not harm me for reading a book or asking a simple question.
It was true that Catrin might not answer me.
But she would never make me bleed for my curiosity, and maybe that was enough.
Maybe that was everything.
“I need you to hear me when I say this,” she said suddenly, the usually chipper uptick of her words dampened.
Catrin drew my hands into hers. I rotated to face her, tipping my notched brow as her wide, sincere eyes pinned me.
“If there were a realm in which I were able to satiate your curiosity, I would transport us there with nothing more than my boundless will. But it’s not my story to tell.
All I can say is that the blood pit is unfathomably dangerous, and as someone who has grown to care for you, I would urge you to stay inside this evening.
You can borrow another book, if you need to keep your mind occupied. ”
I tried not to let my disappointment wilt me.
“Grenythwood wasn’t always like this, you know,” Catrin continued, our attentions locked.
“It used to be more like this garden. Overgrown. Teeming with secrets and possibility. But that’s over now.
All that remains of what was is this little patch here.
” She withdrew from me and stood, gazing out over the glade with a faraway look.
“When the Threshold appeared, everything changed. For some more than others. As with any calamity, certain individuals found opportunity in the confusion. This village became a haven for the exiles—those who, for whatever reason, could not stay in their place of origin.”
“People just like me, then.”
“The village does have a habit of adopting strays,” Catrin mused with welcomed brevity.
“It feels as though the wood is trying to reclaim this place,” I said, putting words to the unpleasant feeling I’d had since arriving.
“It is.”
“Then why don’t you leave? If there are other villages within the Threshold…”
“Because, regardless of what you might think, we are not free, Lyssa. And the blood pit serves as a reminder of that fact.” Bitterness crept into the whispered words, “As if we could forget.”
I so desperately wanted to learn more about the night’s event, but knew Catrin would never betray whoever’s confidence she was keeping. But perhaps…
I stood, squaring my shoulders in determination. “Whose story is it?” When she looked back at me, her features pinched in confusion, I clarified. “You said you won’t tell me about the blood pit because it’s not your story to tell. Whose story is it?”
Catrin continued to assess me, and I could all but see the internal debate warring within her darkened gaze.
We stood like that for several moments, the silence between us marred only by a chilled wind and rustling leaves.
That strange honeyed scent once again drew my eye to the center of the glade, but Catrin retrieved my attention when she finally pierced through the quiet with a single word.
“Videa.”
“Videa,” I repeated, brow furrowing. “As in Milo?”
“Yes,” Catrin said, prompting my heart to squeeze. Milo’s confirmed involvement in something called a blood pit summoned a protective instinct I wasn’t aware I possessed. “And Vayen.”
I groaned in the face of my own stupidity.
“Depths, they’re related. How did I not notice that?
” The burst of green in Vayen’s silver eyes had distracted me entirely—Milo’s green was more dispersed, almost like an emerald obscured by cloud cover, but I still should have noticed the other glaring similarities.
That dark hair, so deep it appeared black most of the time, and the copper tone of their light brown skin.
Milo’s face still held that youthful roundness, but sharper qualities, like Vayen’s prominent jawline and angled brow, were beginning to take shape.
Now that it had been brought to my attention, I would never be able to unsee their mirrored features.
They couldn’t have looked more alike if they were—
“Is she his mother?” I asked suddenly.
Catrin’s laugh sounded through the garden, echoing off the barrier of trees that encased us. “Oh, you’re lucky she’s not here right now. Morwyn knows you’d be in a world of hurt.”