MARKS- Chapter 21

 Chapter Twenty-One

The fog is heavy with ice this morning as I make my way to the river. Winter has settled in over the land, holding it captive. The soil by the riverbank is frigid, but not so frozen I can’t dig up some drakeroot. Liddy was ecstatic about her pink dress, and some of the other mothers have asked me to make pink fabric for them. Drakeroot grows in scattered bunches along the river, and I dig through the hard, cold ground until I have half a dozen or so plants.

An icy wind cuts through my cloak. I cup my hands and blow on them, wiggling my fingers though I can’t feel them. I gaze across the horizon, where the King’s castle rises above the city’s skyline. I’m so close to him, yet so far away at the same time. Hidden under a rock, but he could find me. The threat weighs on me, heavier each day.

I could leave, take off now and no one would follow me. I could make these people safe. Or I could be found by a guard or someone loyal to the King. What if they do things to me to make me talk? And I’m the reason these people die anyway, even if I’m not here? I finger the edge of my cloak then turn. The man standing guard at the door merely nods when I make my way back into the cavern. His face shows no concern, no relief that I’m back. Maybe leaving is best. For them and for me. 

After lunch I call Liddy over to me. She bounces, as only four-year-olds do, and stands in front of me.

“Want to help me with something?” I ask.

Her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline.

“It’s a secret,” I whisper. “So you can’t tell anyone. All right?”

She nods, her eyes wide and serious.

I take her hand, so small in mine, and we go to my workshop. “We’re going to make a special color today.” I poke the fire to life. “Can you guess which one?”

“Which one, Gretta?”

I spread the drakeroot on the table. “Well, it’s the color of babies when they’re first born. Sometimes it’s the color of a sunset.”

She cocks her head, brows furrowed as she works out my puzzle.

“And I think it might be your favorite color,” I prompt.

“Pink!”

“That’s right.” I grab a pot and throw the roots in. “So everyone can have a pink dress.”

“Even you, Gretta?”

“No, not me.” We don’t have that much fabric. And I’m not sure I could wear so delightful a color as pink. The fabric would probably jump from my skin in protest.

I get lost in my work, watching the dye carefully before it merges from pink to red. Liddy perches on my stool as I work and asks me a million questions.

How do you make pink?

Do you think my doll can have a pink dress?

How come Papa doesn’t wear pink?

Yesterday I saw a squirrel; can squirrels see me?

Gretta, how come you always braid your hair?

Will my hair be long like yours some day?

Her questions never stop, just blend and merge to some new line of thinking. Amazingly enough, her scattered thoughts make perfect sense to me. Sometimes she sings, and I’m surprised to find myself joining her, remembering songs I haven’t heard since I was her age. She stands over the pots as I dunk the fabric in, her hands clapped together in front of her. When I pull a piece out, she clutches it in her fist.

"No, no,” I tell her, but it’s too late. Pink coats her entire hand. She scampers back to her stool. She stares at her hand, her wide eyes getting - unbelievably - even bigger. Huge tears well up in them, and my heart very well may drop out of my chest.

I throw the fabric over the line. “It’s all right,” I tell her. “Come on.” I lower her from the stool, even though she’s plenty big enough to get down on her own. Part of me just longs to pick her up as often as I can, holding her close and relishing her smallness. I smile. “Let’s go wash your hands.”

Not a big deal. Her stains wash off.

I take her hand and we walk to the main room, then head to the springs. We’re nearly there when voices bounce off the walls. Did I miss the ribbon being down? But no, it was still on its hook. I take two more steps and wonder if someone forgot, and we’re about to walk in on them bathing. But it’s multiple voices I hear. All men’s.

We round the corner and I halt to a stop.

There are men here.

Guards.

#

For two seconds I can’t breathe. Six guards stand along the spring’s edge. A scream erupts in my stomach, but I swallow it. I have to warn the others. I put my hand on Liddy’s shoulder and push her behind me, then take a step backwards.

Liddy darts forward.

“No!” I reach for her but she’s quick, slipping from my fist like a fish. My heart stops beating and everything around me freezes. Except for Liddy, her tiny legs taking her farther and farther away from me. She rushes into the arms of one of the men.

Nolan.

Nolan is one of the guards. I do a quick scan. The rest are men from here, too. I collapse to my knees. Oh Saints.

It’s not real. It’s not real.

Liddy is safe.

I sit back and force myself to breathe, willing the nausea to pass and my heart rate to return to normal.

Nolan carries Liddy and crosses over to me. “Sorry to scare you.”

“It’s all right.” It’s not. Good heavens, it’s not. Even now my heart is still flying so fast in my chest it may skip right out of my skin.

Nolan whispers something to Liddy and sets her down. She scampers up the tunnel. I watch her leave then turn back to Nolan.

“You’d best go on too, Gretta.”

There’s a sadness in his eyes. A solemn truth or fear that settles like dead weight in my stomach. It’s as if he’s resolved himself to something.

I stand and turn up the tunnel. When I reach the main room, I continue down to my workroom. Then keep going, groping in the dark and tiptoeing so the men can’t hear me coming from this direction. When their voices bounce off the walls, I freeze and press myself into the rock.

“Remember, three bells mark the changing of the shift. We won’t have long.”

That’s Nolan’s voice. I inch forward, straining to hear.

"Three drops are all it may take,” he says. “You have the vial, then?”

Another voice answers. “Yes. And you’re sure he won’t know?”

"Drakeroot has no smell,” Nolan answers.

Drakeroot. I picked drakeroot weeks ago for Liddy’s dress. Nolan had fingered the fabric and asked me how I made that color. Drakeroot grows along the river. I pointed it out to him. Drakeroot makes pink dye. Or red. Or it can kill you if you drink it.

Saints above. These people aren’t just rebelling against the King.

They want to assassinate him.