“Will you let me carry you again?” Dax asked.
In answer, Ree held up several of his branches.
Dax scooped Ree up.
Together, they disembarked and climbed the steps up from the canal.
There were even more people in this plaza, perhaps because it was nightfall and many had returned from wherever they’d spent their day—working, seeking work, helping with the cleanup. A baby was crying nearby, but there were also children playing and laughing, families chattering to one another. It was nice that there was no screaming.Maybe we’ve passed the screaming stage of the revolution?She still didn’t want to be here, though.
They asked at the first few tents if anyone knew the Verdane family.
One woman nodded and began to point—
“Birch!” Ree shrieked. He rolled out of Dax’s arms and then flung himself across the courtyard, rolling like a tumbleweed until he came to a stop in front of a tan canvas tent.
Marin and Dax trotted behind him to catch up.
An older man with a cane bent over Ree. He had bushy gray hair and even bushier eyebrows. His skin had the same golden metallic sheen as Marin remembered from her brief encounters with the gardener of Belde. When he looked up at her and Dax, she saw he had the same eyes as well: deep green, though his were lined with wrinkles.
“You come from Belde?” the man asked them.
Marin demanded, “Are you the family of Yarrow Verdane?”
The man froze. “He’s my son, yes. Is he…”
It quickly occurred to her that she should have prefaced that differently. It must have sounded like she was bringing bad news. “He’s fine. He’s well. He sent you a letter.” She pulled the letter from her pouch and handed it to him.
The man’s shoulders relaxed. “Ahh. He did? He did. That… is unusual. He hasn’t written to us… But I suppose these are unusual times.” Over his shoulder, he called, “Rowan? Your brother has sent a letter.” He turned back to Marin, Dax, and Ree. “I’m Birch Verdane.” As a woman emerged from the tent, he added, “And this is my daughter, Rowan.”
She too had the same gold skin. Her hair was black and gold, like Yarrow’s, but hers was braided into three strands that hung down to her waist. “Am I supposed to be happy about this? He waited until now to reach out? It took the fall of the empire?” She then spotted Ree. “Oh! You’re one of them! Aren’t you? One of sorcerer Laiken’s creations?”
“He’s dead,” Ree said.
“Yes, I know, but you’re not. That’s as much of a surprise as Yarrow’s letter. Maybe slightly less of a surprise. My brother is a terrible letter writer.”
“You need to come back to Belde,” Ree said.
Rowan snorted.
“The greenhouses need gardeners,” Ree insisted. “And you can’t stay here. It’s scary.”
Marin had read the letter, and she knew Yarrow had not said “gardeners” plural. He had requested one relative to return, to ease the burden of caring for the greenhouses. He’d referenced the failing spells and said the situation was desperate, and he’d be grateful for the assistance of anyone who was available to help, whenever they were available. He’d had no idea about the fall of the empire.
And he certainly hadn’t said:Everyone come.
She could see where this was going, though: they’d all want passage to Belde. They’d lost their home and their livelihood, and it had to seem like the best option. Stepping back, Marin tugged on Dax’s sleeve so that he’d step back with her.
“What’s wrong?” he whispered.
“I don’t transport people,” she whispered back. “I’m a supply runner, not a ferry.” Maybe she’d be fine with it under ordinary circumstances, but with Iovar and the deadline?
“You took my friends from the conservatory…”
“That was an exception.” There was fire, death, mayhem. Now… She couldn’t afford charity trips, not anymore. Looking at the tent and Yarrow’s family, she doubted they could afford to pay her, and how could she ask them to? They’d already lost so much. Her stomach churned.Maybe they’ll want to stay here. Maybe I don’t need to do anything more than what I’ve already done.
She’d delivered the letter. She’d done what she’d promised to do and then some—she’d confirmed that they were alive and safe, relatively speaking. Searching for them had already taken up more time than she’d meant to spend in Alyssium. She hadn’t picked up any new jobs, and if she filled her hold with refugees, she wouldn’t be able to, not until after she’d dropped them off. She’d lose at least a week of her time until Iovar’s deadline.
She had to look after her own family. Her parents needed her.
