Eemer nods.
“But they want to keep him. They say he’s their son and that they love him. Heart-wrenching really. You should see how the babe’s ma clung to him when a neighbor noticed his face. I’m surprised no one’s reported them.”
I turn away, focusing on the soil beneath my hands and ignoring the heat that seeps into my veins. Their chatter goes on in the background, fully masked by my lack of focus. Here in the Grounds—across the bridge from Mainland where the royal family and other nobles live—we are all lowborn laborers. Many Grounders live rewarding lives, raising families and building connections with others, even though we work from the moment we can handle a spade or milk a cow.
But Undesirables—individuals with debilitating illnesses, children who don’t develop on schedule, and those deemed unable to adequately contribute to society—are sent to the Wastelands. Outcast. Left for dead. People say that life in the Wastelands is so harsh that it’s impossible. It’s a death sentence. Those who don’t bring their Undesirable loved ones forward are sentenced to death for withholding truths from the crown.
And then there are those accused of being Mages—possessing abilities of sorcery or wielding elemental magic. Whether there have been any true Mages in recent years is a different story.
Cold water sloshes over my hands, soaking through my tunic sleeves. I yelp and scramble to hold onto the bucket that Eemer had unexpectedly shoved into my arms. Her thin brows rise, her eyes even larger than usual.
“Sorry,” I say to her confused face. “Lost in thought.”
“As always.” She smiles warmly.
I can’t find it in me to smile back, so I water my section and get to my feet. My head feels as though it weighs a ton. “Is that all? I need to get back to cataloguing.”
My tone must have come out sharper than I intended, because Grawnye and Eemer exchange glances and Orla’s eyebrows rise toward her hairline. She stands and takes me aside, away from the girls. “The dye plants are scheduled to be delivered to Ballybaegtoday.”
My heart clenches as I read between the lines. Grawnye is well into her pregnancy, Eemer simply cannot be trusted to find her way out of town and back without getting lost, and Orla’s knees are awful—so that leaves me responsible for making the delivery. Of course, on a day that I already had to be away from Taig.
The day just gets better and better…
CHAPTER 2
Durvla
Time dragsas we cut and bundle various plants, change out the soil, and plant new seasonal flowers and herbs. The sun is high in the sky by the time we finish. We’ve all had to remove our overcoats and shawls. Sweat gathers on the small of my back and my undershirt sticks to my chest. It will be a relief to get out of the greenhouse, even though I still have to make the trek to Ballybaeg.
We used to have an additional gardener that could’ve done the delivery, but she was apprehended for treason. I don’t even remember whattreasonousdeed she committed, but it leaves us with one less helper.
My stomach rumbles as we step from the hot greenhouse into the cool air. Amusement sparks in Orla’s blue eyes. “Whoa, hungry there, lass?”
I smile sheepishly. “Starving.”
Her ruddy face is splotchy from our hard labor. She pulls a handkerchief from her skirt pocket and mops her forehead. “Why don’t you stop by? Granny insisted I bring you over for some fresh bread.”
I hesitate. I want to check on Taig before I head to Ballybaeg and I’m running out of time. I don’t even know if Osheen made it back to look after him.
Orla regards me with wide, expectant eyes, much like her son’s.
I glance at the wagon that I’m toting around, filled with bundled plants that I still need to categorize and label before delivering them. “I have to get?—”
“I’ll hurry her along. And with luck, Osheen may be able to accompany you on your journey.”
My teeth sink into my lower lip as I consider my options. It’ll be suspicious andimpolite if I still refuse. I’ve known the Oakley family for most of my twenty-three years of life, and they’ve been kinder than ever since my mother died. The least I can do is appease the elderly matriarch. “Alright, but I can’t stay long.”
Orla beams. “Great!”
I follow Orla to her house, walking right past my own.Sorry, Taig. My heart physically tries to tug me toward him, but I clench my hand on the handle of the wagon and keep in step with Orla. Osheen said he’d be there.
But what if he’s not?
Sweat slicks my palms. I really need to hurry. Before we even head up the pathway of worn-down grass, the mouthwatering aroma of fresh-baked bread reaches me. Sourdough. My stomach growls again, the traitor. Ahead of me, Orla’s shoulders shake with laughter.
She opens the door and I salivate, my knees wobbling.
A stout, elderly woman approaches, practically running toward us. Before I can prepare myself, I’m crushed against her ample chest. “Hi, Granny,” I say—she refuses to be called anything but. My mouth waters from the scent of dough and meat clinging to her shirt.
