Chapter 8
I go weak with relief at the sight of Aunt Florence and Uncle Richard.
Florence looks so much like my mother, which means Uncle Richard was probably the one born to another House, just like Gran.
I don’t know which—I’ve never thought of him as anything but an Apothecary before.
My hand finds my pocket and the wooden toy inside as I contemplate this new development in the family dynamic, wishing my brother was here to share it with.
“Rosie!” Uncle Richard holds his arms wide. He’s a lantern-jawed man with a blob of a nose and a ready smile. He’s also a ginger, and he always leaves a dusting of carrot-colored hair across his left cheek no matter how carefully he shaves.
I stand and run into his arms, starving for the love and affection of my family.
He squeezes me tight and kisses the top of my head. “Within the Wall,” he says, offering the standard greeting in a choked voice.
Aunt Florence weaves her arms around us both. She smells spicy, like marigold salve. “It was an honor, of course,” she murmurs, “for Jonas to be chosen.”
I pull back. These are the words we’re supposed to say, but do they need to be spoken here, inside the cottage? Gran’s honesty has loosened my tongue. “He should not have been.” I’m surprised by the heat in my chest.
“Rose.” Uncle Richard glances toward the door. “Don’t shake branches.”
“The law says that Apothecaries are spared from Harvest in times of need, and with the Vex still unresolved, this qualifies.” Now that I’ve started, I can’t stop. “And who ever thought of using the Harvest as a punishment? We should have been allowed to decide the consequences together!”
Aunt Florence appears alarmed. She’s the only member of our House who wears glasses. When she pushes them up her nose, their thick lenses magnify her eyes into two pools. “The law changed, Rosie.” She blinks myopically. “It changed to protect us.”
Uncle Richard reaches behind her to ensure the door is fully closed. “We must trust in the system,” he says loudly. Then he lowers his voice, tossing a worried glance at Gran. “Has your grandmother been filling your head with stories? She hasn’t been feeling well, you know. She isn’t herself.”
I pull away from them, heart thudding. I’ve never seen Uncle Richard or Aunt Florence behave this way. Paranoid. Scared. For a sickening moment, I wonder if they know I’ve been smuggling medicine to the aged. But how could they? I’ve been so careful. Still, my palms begin to sweat.
“I’m just here to get my things,” I tell them uneasily. “A change of clothes. My suitcase.”
“So Lillian hasn’t told you any tales?” Uncle Richard exchanges a troubled glance with my aunt.
Gran appears to have fallen asleep.
“No,” I say. “I just walked in.”
It’s a lie, but one that rests easy on my conscience. I turn to hurry up the stairs but pause. “Aunt Florence… Uncle Richard,” I say, each word measured and careful. I’m moving into risky territory. “Why were Mom and Jonas not at the end of the wedding path waiting with the two of you?”
“Oh!” Aunt Florence says. “Just as Agnes was bringing you your flowers, we received word of a villager possibly displaying symptoms of the Vex.”
The air changes, and I sense vital information is coming, information connected to who killed Mom. I nod, stiff enough to splinter. “All four of you received word?”
Uncle Richard scrunches up his face, obviously traveling back to the moment. “We were all waiting for you at the end of the bridal path—you looked so beautiful, Rosie, and that was so kind of you to tend to Agnes’s hand. And then…” He trails off, perhaps trying to recall a face.
Aunt Florence completes his sentence. “Then she grabbed your mother and Jonas and led them away.”
“She?” But my gut tells me I know.
“Marina Seingalt,” Uncle Richard recalls. “The Record Keeper girl. But it turned out to be a false alarm.”