Chapter 43 #2
She glides her thumb below a white ribbon at her neck and lifts.
We don’t have many locks in the Valley, which means I haven’t seen many keys, but I do recognize the style of this one from a book.
It’s a warded key made of gray metal, the length of my pointer finger and half as thick.
One end has an arched design that reminds me of the chapel’s stained-glass windows.
The other is constructed of lines of metal as intricate as a maze.
It can only be one thing: the key to the Record Keeper vault. Simon must have told her I’d asked about it. That little snitch. I try to catch his eyes, but he looks away.
The meal continues. The Guardians, all but Gryphon, do most of the talking.
Their voices grow rowdier the more they drink, until no one else can be heard above them.
We’re forced to listen to crude jokes I only half understand, boring stories about their training, and gossip about the people of the Valley that finally draws Marina into the conversation.
My food congeals on my plate. The two swallows of pruno have given me heartburn.
The room feels hot and crowded. Worst of all is that Gran’s fading.
She should be in bed by now. I’m deciding that I don’t mind at all that we stopped doing dinner swaps in the Valley when I realize there’s a pause in the chatter and everyone’s staring at me.
My breath hitches. I glance around the table. Marina and Leo appear to be gloating, happy that I’ve fallen out of sync with the group. Oscar looks worried. Lozen’s trying not to laugh.
“Did I not speak clearly?” Misia asks. She means to embarrass me, but the fact of the matter is that she’s slurring her words. She’s drunk at least four glasses of pruno.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I wasn’t listening.”
Misia’s eyes narrow. “I asked what your favorite part of your new wedding dress is.”
“It’s not complete.” It takes all my effort not to look to Oscar.
“Surely it’s nearly finished, though,” Marina murmurs. “The wedding is just around the corner.”
“Unless you lied to us, Oscar,” Misia says, “about your ability to finish it in time.”
The room is suddenly, inexplicably pulsing with anger. Misia stands, an unsheathed dagger appearing in her hand. I jump up, dashing to insert myself between her and Oscar. Gryphon is on his feet nearly as quickly.
“The beadwork!” I interject. “I love the beadwork. It’s much prettier than my own.”
Misia is panting now. She’s so close that I can smell meat and sour drink on her breath. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Gryphon inching closer.
“Oscar is doing a beautiful job,” I say softly. Light glints off the knife in her hand. “He’ll have it done in plenty of time.”
Misia blinks. Her eyes regain focus. It’s like she returns to the room, turning to take a long draw of her drink before dropping back into her chair. The breath empties from my lungs. When Gryphon stands next to me, I see his hand is on his own blade.
“Now, where were we?” Jarek asks, as if that whole scene hadn’t just happened.
“You were talking about the Apothecary House when we all realized Rose wasn’t listening.” Marina’s eyes shimmer with malice. “You were saying that you’d like them to have a special seat of honor Friday.”
“Ah yes. Lillian, what do you think of that?”
We all turn our attention to Gran, who’s slumped over in her chair with her chin tucked into her chest.
“Gran!” I hurry to her, but Gryphon gets there first. He gently touches her neck and then leans his ear close to her head.
“She’s sleeping,” he says. He addresses his father. “You shouldn’t have ordered her attendance tonight.”
I feel like I’ve been punched. He ordered her here? As if my gran was a Guardian in training?
Jarek raises a brow in warning. “I don’t believe I heard you. Care to repeat yourself?”
Gryphon shakes his head. “I do not. What I care to do is help Lillian get home.” We all watch as he gently lifts Gran into his arms.
“Put her down,” Jarek growls, “so she can apologize for falling asleep at the table and rejoin our conversation.”
I’ve never seen Gryphon openly defy his father. He goes still for a moment. I’m waiting for him to cower, to do his duty by Jarek as he always has. Instead, he walks Gran directly to me.
“Would you like to wish her good night?”
I’m still in shock, so it takes me a second to catch on to the incredible kindness he’s offering—the chance to check Gran’s pulse and breathing before he brings her home.
He must understand I won’t have a moment of rest until I do.
I blink furiously, refusing to cry. I kiss Gran’s cheek.
Her breathing is regular. I touch her neck, noting with relief that her pulse is weak but normal.
“Thank you,” I say, for his ears alone.
Watching him carry her out the door, I’m humbled by a sudden realization.
Jonas couldn’t possibly have slipped free of Gryphon before his Harvest like I’d thought. My brother has always been thin—a healer, not a fighter. Gryphon has repeatedly established in village demonstrations that he’s one of the strongest Guardians in the Valley.
He had intentionally released my twin so we could say goodbye.