Chapter 72
A massive vineyard stretches below.
The crop reminds me of the hops I grew in my greenhouse, only monstrous, stretched across soaring trellises that march beneath the moon in cold, geometric lines. Something about the image makes my skin crawl, and I suppress a shudder.
The wind picks up again, curling around us like a breath, and more of the truth comes into view.
By the Sun and the Water. The massive plants aren’t hops—they’re writhing Verdant Beasts, their vines seeking sky and soil. Tens of them, maybe hundreds, are arranged in orderly rows like crops in a field. Each one’s swollen to enormous size, their corpulent bodies shaded purple.
A walled settlement lies at the base of each. From this distance, they look about half the size of Noah’s Valley, some of them so close their walls are nearly touching.
Bile burns my throat as the horrible truth crashes over me: It’s a farm for the Verdant Beasts.
My mouth tastes of metal. I want to scream, to tear the sky open with my rage at the layers of lies I’ve been forced to accept, when I notice that the light that drew us up this hill is coming from the center of the field of Beasts. It’s glowing white, an unblinking beacon.
Gryphon’s hand finds mine. Solid. Warm. Real.
“Rose,” he says quietly, pointing down. “Look.”
I pull my gaze to the ground. Just ahead, arranged in weathered stones, an arrow points toward the white light. At its tip sits a tiny wooden rabbit carved by a boy who would have been a wonderful toymaker, if only the Valley had allowed it.
Jonas.