Page 47 of A Serpent in the Garden

I rubbed the crystals from my eyes, fighting a yawn. But what if something dangerous is out there?

You’ll have a blade. You’ll have me. It won’t be long.

So I edged out from under the dead weight of Serich’s arm and made to wake him, but It froze my hand a few inches from his shoulder.

Only you.

I can’t just leave him here sleeping. I tried to force through the inexorable air that held me back. What if something finds him?

That’s a risk I’m willing to live with.

I’m not doing that. I’ll go, but let me wake him first.

No. And when I was about to argue again: I can force you, you know. It would be easier and quicker if you went along with me. It will take all of five minutes if you’d stop fighting.

Still, I struggled against the invisible wall holding me back from Serich for a few more seconds while It stood there in his cell, arms folded, a halo of crushing derision wreathing him.

I gave it up. I would not be able to overpower him, not if I tried for hours. Dragging on my damp, dirty cloak that I had slept on top of, I tried, very quietly, to remove enough carefully placed boulders so that I could slither through the wider gap.

What am I supposed to be looking for, I asked dully, shivering in the semidarkness, my eyes darting around the voiceless wood as the fogs pillowed around me. The silence always hit me like a liquor: potent, disorienting, but it never struck as hard as it did right then, when I stood alone in the dim center of it, wondering what else crouched there watching through the fog.

Round the corner, It said. Hug the left. We’ll be quick.

I did, huddling into my wet cloak which didn’t do much to ward off the chill. I could feel It just behind my eyes, subtly directing them to take in the wood, as if he had to find his bearings. Like a field mouse, I hurried over the uneven carpet of dead leaves and twigs, expecting at any moment to be plucked up and devoured.

Straighten out, It said suddenly. Right ahead. You see the stream, that big tree? There.

I thought he had brought me here for fresh water. I didn’t bring our skins.

There’s a plant at the base of the tree. Do you see it?

Even through the smoky light and whirling fogs, I could see those tiny white blooms. They shone luminous through the night, which seemed reluctant to depart and make way for dawn. The flowers looked lit from within somehow, as if they encapsulated a tiny shred of moonlight. I’d seen bunches growing wild here and there in the wood, though I’d given them a wide berth so as to not incur their wrath.

We call them moonflowers. You should eat one.

Every flower I’ve seen here bites. I’m not even going to touch one.

It won’t bite you. But if it does its job you’ll bleed.

I’m going back to the grotto. I turned on my heel.

Did you ever consider, in your rush to rip your clothes off, what might happen if he knocks you up? When I stopped dead but didn’t answer, It said, One of these will make sure that won’t happen.

I clutched at my wet cloak, twisting it between my fingers as I turned to gaze down at those flowers glowing pure-white through the gloom. No, I hadn’t considered the fact I might get pregnant. I would probably die anyway; even Blathilde had thought so. Was there any use in worrying? Serich would probably think that was against God’s will.

So don’t tell him, It said with a bark of impatience. He’s not the one who’d have to have the child. It’s not up to him what you do. Do you want to have his baby? You might if you don’t take that.

My teeth sank into the meaty inside of my bottom lip, but I said nothing, did nothing, as the fogs roamed through my hair like lazy, languorous fingers.

If you’d allow me to impart some wisdom before we part ways forever, It said, pacing behind the bars. His relationship with his God is fundamental but fractured now, and he’ll blame you for it if he doesn’t get the ending he feels is right. When you make it back to Monde’s End he’s probably going to expect to marry you.

I had no assurances of even living to see the village again. I was honest about my intentions.

How admirable, It said, in a voice sagging with sarcasm. But it won’t matter. I’m sure he heard what he wanted to. What he saw was his bloodrose come to life. He’ll say fate can’t exist because it isn’t of God, but if it means he can have you he’ll probably be willing to grant an exception.

You don’t know that.

I do. If you want a baby—if that’s what you really want, to raise a child with him—then fine. Whatever. Who am I to tell you otherwise? But if you don’t want that, then you need to take this.