There’s only one thing I’m certain about. Somewhere in the veil, my city is out of water. And I’ve come upon a city absolutely drenched in it.
Surely I can persuade them to share.
SEVEN
“SO…” ALE SAYS. “WHAT EXACTLY ARE WE DOING?”
We’re sitting against the wall of a manor at the edge of the square, stealthily positioned in the midst of an herb garden. I’m peering through the stalks at the mostly silent cathedral. We’ve probably been here for a couple of hours, but I’m not sure, because I haven’t heard the familiar peal of the bells. Overhead, the veil has darkened to the deep red of late afternoon. I’m trying not to the think about the veil darkening in Occhia, too.
“We’re waiting,” I say.
“For what?” Ale says.
“For an opportunity,” I say.
Ale is quiet. I pick through the plants in front of me, looking again for something I can eat. I don’t recognize everything, but I do notice a familiar intruder that’s sprung up next to the sage. It’s called the calalla flower. Its beautiful white bulbs are incredibly rough on the stomach. I’m a gentle-mannered young lady who would never wish stomach illness on anyone, of course, so I have no reason to know that. We just happen to be very vigilant about weeds in our garden at the House of Rosa.
I pick some bulbs and put them in my pocket. I’m sure they’ll be useful.
“So we’re waiting for an opportunity,” Ale says. “An opportunity for… what?”
“We need to know more about this cathedral,” I say. “And the front door is the only way in.”
I know this because we walked around for an examination, arm in arm like we were on a casual stroll. In Occhia, the cathedral has a dozen side doors for the ease of its various priests and visitors. Here, there are none.
There’s also no sign of a tower. There’s just empty cobblestone.
I can’t shake the feeling that this whole city is playing a cruel prank on me. The longer I sit here, the more it gnaws at me.
“Alas,” I continue, “the front door seems to be closed to visitors. So we need to find a way around that.”
Ale glances around. “By sitting in an herb garden? How—”
I hold up a hand to shush him. I hear footsteps through the open window over our heads.
“We’re listening to gossip,” I whisper. “Kitchens always have the best information.”
Inside, pots are clanking. Bowls are rattling. Drawers are opening and shutting. All I have to do now is wait to hear something juicy.
“Where’s my good knife?” a voice says, high and melodic. “There’s so many potatoes tonight. I need my good knife.”
“Oh, do you mean this knife?” The second voice comes from across the room.
“Aubert! Give it back!” The first voice has gone all giggly. “Don’t you dare. If you lick it, you’re the one who has to wash it again, you silly—”
So this city has incredibly tedious flirting, too. It would have been nice if it didn’t.
The minutes tick on as more of the house staff appear in the kitchen. The potato-cutting maid and the dishwasher continue to poke at each other. Two cooks argue passionately about some card game they lost last night. The housekeeper comes in and scolds everyone for not arranging yesterday’s cheese platter properly, and when she leaves, they all grumble about how the cheese platter isn’t their job. Food starts to sizzle, and the smell of garlic and rosemary drifts out the window, and I think about how I haven’t eaten since we left the catacombs. And how, before that, I hadn’t eaten since the day of my wedding.
I’m deep in amorous thoughts about rosemary potatoes when Ale elbows me. He casts a significant look at the window, and I sit up straighter.
“It seems like so long ago,” the maid is saying. “Things have changed so quickly.”
“I’ll never forget the first watering,” one of the cooks says. “And to think—I’ll soon be telling my grandchildren about it. I still can’t believe I’ll live to see them grow up.”
“Your wine habit might have something to say about that,” the other cook says.
“I’m only driven to wine because of your terrible strategy—”
“We’re very blessed to live in such historic times,” the housekeeper interrupts, because apparently she’s returned. “Perhaps we should show our gratitude by doing our jobs and arranging the cheese platter correctly. If you lot try and serve the family this disaster, I swear I’ll—”
There’s a small kerfuffle during which the cheese platter is rearranged and the housekeeper leaves. For a moment, the kitchen is quiet.
“Do you think the Heart means it?” the dishwasher says. “All the things she says about how one day, everyone in Iris will have a house of their own? Not just the noble families?”
“Of course she does, Aubert,” the maid says. “She’s only been ruling the city for two years. She’s working on it.”
“The Heart keeps her promises,” one of the cooks says. “She promised that Iris would always have all the water we’ll ever need. She promised that the tower would come down and no one would ever die in it again. And here we are.”
I’m very aware that Ale is looking at me. But I’m not brave enough to look at him. I’m just holding my breath, desperate to hear more.
“It is a bit strange, though, isn’t it?” the dishwasher says.
“What is?” the maid says.
“That we only see her at the waterings,” he says. “And that it’s the only time we’re allowed in the cathedral. When she started, she said she wasn’t like… y’know.”
There’s a silence
