Chapter 22
I rejoin the Tzus for our walk to chapel, as is customary for families.
We’re taught that our chapel was built from marble quarried across an ocean, a great body of salted water. The humble wattle and daub cottages lining the square look like squat little boxes alongside it.
The chapel’s most impressive feature is its tower, rising nearly four stories high, twice as tall as any other structure inside the Wall. Inside is a massive bell behind windows of stained glass. They burn red, green, and gold with the Sun’s sacred rays.
Jarek and Misia lead the way up the stone steps, surrounded by the hum of hundreds of conversations as the entire village files inside. The two of them carry themselves tall and rigid. I realize Gryphon does, too, and immediately square my own shoulders to match.
Someone jostles me, catching me off balance, and I bump into Gryphon. He recoils. I duck my head in embarrassment, instinctively yanking down hair to cover the birthmarked side of my face. My betrothed can’t even stand to touch me.
I shouldn’t care that I disgust him, but I do, and it makes me angry. I turn to glare at the person who nudged me and see it’s Eero, his own hair slicked back. His cowlick has escaped, though, and it sticks straight up, reminding me of Jonas. I force the thought from my mind.
Sorry, Eero mouths.
I nod.
We’re technically free to sit where we choose, but over time, each House has claimed its pocket. Services can last upward of four hours, and it’s not unheard of for a medical crisis to occur, so the Apothecaries have always sat in the back. We can observe our neighbors best from there.
The Guardians sit in the front pew.
Something like stage fright seizes me as we parade down the center aisle.
I spot Uncle Richard trying to catch my eye with a reassuring smile, but I’m too miserable to return it.
We shuffle to the head of the chapel, Jarek taking the seat nearest the aisle, then Misia, followed by Gryphon, then me.
Less than fifteen unobstructed feet separate us from the podium where Sojourner, her husband, and their three children stand in red robes.
Once we’re all seated, the chapel as quiet as sleep, Sojourner speaks.
Her voice booms across the space. “Welcome, everyone. It’s so wonderful to see your faces as we gather on this holy day to celebrate our life, our love, and our community, especially after such a terrible loss.
Before I begin, are there any announcements? ”
This is usually the shortest and most enjoyable part of the service. Villagers share birth and marriage ceremony announcements, plus miscellaneous updates, since Sunday chapel is our only regular gathering. It’s almost always good news we hear, but when Misia stands, Gryphon stiffens beside me.
What does he know?
Misia turns to the congregation, her face severe. “I would like to announce that my son Gryphon will be wedding Rose Allgood today, here in chapel.”
My face goes slack.
Gryphon flies to his feet. “No!” he yells. His muscles are flexed, every line of him sharp with fury, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. He’s never looked more alive—more impossibly handsome—and the sting of his rejection lands all the deeper for it.
I hear someone cackling behind me. Marina? Embarrassment roasts my belly. If humiliation was fatal, I’d be dead on the floor. Then I’d rise again to drag Gryphon down with me.
Any lingering childhood affections I had for him are finally and utterly snuffed out. I find I’m grateful for it. It makes everything easier. Cleaner.
Misia spins on her son, her eyes narrowing. “She’s your betrothed.”
Even as mortified as I am, it’s impossible to miss the angry set of Sojourner’s jaw at the front of the chapel.
She’s the only Head Priest I’ve ever known.
Her children and husband direct the hymns and light the candles, and they offer support and counseling outside of our Sunday service, but only she leads our ceremonies.
“It is not up to you to call a wedding, Artemisia Tzu.” Sojourner’s voice rings clear and true.
Because Gryphon is still standing, I have a straight line of sight to Jarek.
His hand crawls to the mother-of-pearl knife strapped to his waist, and I flinch, remembering the gore pouring from Wendy’s finger.
Sojourner must spot the threatening gesture, too, because her lips purse, though her voice remains strong.
“There are necessary preparations for such an occasion,” she continues, her spine straight.
“Our ancestors were wise in threading structure and celebration into our days. We will not rush their timeline.” She narrows her gaze, asking a question that ought to be no question at all: “Or do you doubt our blessed Founders?”
My stomach tumbles. Misia looks to Jarek. I see no change, but she must read something in his expression, because her aggressive posture eases down a notch.
“Forgive me,” Misia says to Sojourner, somehow managing to make her submission sound like a threat. “You are correct, of course. In fact, let’s wait for another sunny day or two to hold the wedding. Bless it with glory.”
She returns to her seat, as does Gryphon, who drops his head into his hands. Sojourner glares at Misia for three beats longer before beginning her sermon with the traditional words. Bathed in Sun, rooted in Soil, Watered by the sky…
I’m in shock and hear none of it. Another sunny day or two?
Now that her first choice has been shot down, Misia wants to wait until the tablet is fully recharged!
They cannot be thinking of another Harvest, not so close to Jonas’s.
Not on another one of my wedding days, for rain’s sake.
The village would surely revolt. But what else could she mean?
Her words from yesterday return without my reaching for them, what she’d uttered in reference to the “beastie” attacking her.
Good practice for the big day.
My instincts tell me that, once again, I’m going to end up a part of it.
.
The chapel basement has the same wide footprint as the building overhead, though more modest in design.
The ceilings are low, the walls and floor plain, gray granite.
Long pine tables and chairs crowd all the space except for a small kitchen in the rear.
Besides our after-service meal, we also hold celebrations down here when the weather outside is too cold or rainy.
I angry-whisper at Gryphon as we descend. “Did you have to humiliate me in front of everyone?”
I’d spent the rest of the sermon seething beside him, mostly so I didn’t cry. You’d think I’d be used to it by now, that I’d have developed a thicker skin. But no matter how many times Gryphon and Marina and everyone else in this village reject me, it still shivving hurts.
He scowls. “You don’t want to marry me.”
“You don’t want to marry me, either,” I hiss. “What does that have to do with anything? Our union is law, Gryphon. There’s no getting out of it.” If there was, I’d still be an Apothecary.
He tosses me a glance, dangerous and sharp-edged. “Wouldn’t want to make a choice for ourselves, would we?”
Then he stomps off to find Leonidas, immediately saying something that makes his friend laugh. Anger that’s really humiliation wraps around me like poison ivy.
Jarek and Misia, who preceded us downstairs, are engaged in a heated conversation with Perez and Boudicca Khan of the western Guardian House, Leonidas’s parents.
They look like brother and sister, though I know they’re not.
Familial proximity is of chief concern when assigning marriage partners; the Record Keeper House maintains meticulous genealogies on that front.
But both Perez and Boudicca are compact and strong, with shoulder-length black hair, thick eyebrows, and eyes a light shade of brown.
Perez wears a full beard and mustache. All four glance over at me as they talk.
It seems like everyone else in the basement is sneaking looks at me, too.
Here I go, winning again.
I walk over to the food line to serve myself a bowl of stew speckled with dried currants, though I could sooner choke down my own hair.
Wasn’t it just last night that I wished the wedding would be postponed, so I wouldn’t have to share a marriage bed with Gryphon?
But privately hoping for more time and having your betrothed—who you used to dream of kissing—announce to the entire village that he detests you are two entirely different animals.
Gryphon’s outburst, along with what sounds like a plan for another Harvest on our new wedding day, have landed like a slap.
“You’ll help with the census.”
I jump. I’d been sinking so deeply into wretchedness that I hadn’t noticed Misia break from her group. “Pardon?”
She sniffs. “We will not have you lazing about in our cottage. Leaves too much time for trouble. If you can’t get married today, you will work. We’ve decided you’ll help the Record Keepers.”
The annual census is crucial to our survival.
Its collection is the Record Keepers’ most vital task.
I glance over at Jarek, Boudicca, and Perez.
“The Record Keeper agrees?” I phrase it as a question.
I’m still not understanding. Doing the work of another House outside of an emergency is unprecedented.
It destabilizes the very foundation of our community.
“It is done,” she says.
She’s not answered my question, not really. My scalp prickles. Are Jarek and Misia trying to trick me? To set me up to break the law so they have a reason to Harvest me? I’m still trying to make sense of it when she calls Marina over.
Marina is wearing the same soft gray as the rest of us, but she glows in it.
Her hair is styled in cascading waves. Her navy-blue eyes twinkle like jewels.
“Such a shame about your betrothed,” she says, her lips quivering with the effort of holding in laughter, “growing very public, very cold feet.”
“Enough,” Misia says. Before I can consider if this is a kindness, she continues. “Rose is going to help your House conduct this year’s census.”
“We don’t want her!” Marina protests.
I didn’t think I could feel worse. Wrong.
“I didn’t ask your opinion.” Misia’s tone is icy. “But if you prefer I bring over Jarek to reiterate his command, I’m happy to do so.”
I’m not so pleased that my bully is being put in her place that I miss the power shift. A Guardian should not be commanding the duties of another House. When proud Marina doesn’t protest, I wonder if this isn’t the first time it’s happened.
“Fine,” she says, wrinkling her nose at me. “You can go cottage to cottage tomorrow, gathering information. I’ll warn you, it’s cold, boring work that involves a lot of writing.” She tilts her head innocently. “You can write, can’t you?”
She means to insult me, but something wonderful has just occurred to me. The Record Keepers visit every House with their questions. They’re unsupervised and free to roam anywhere in the village.
Misia thinks she’s punishing me with this job, I’m sure of it, offering me busywork to keep me out of their way until I can start training. But in doing so, she’s handed me the perfect cover to investigate my mother’s murder.