Girl of the Night Garden by Lili Valente

Author:Lili Valente [Valente, Lili]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Self Taught Ninja Inc.
Published: 2021-03-25T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Foxglove

I wake to sunlight scratching at my swollen eyes and toss an arm over my face with a groan.

What a night. What a vile night.

I received no answers from Poke, nor any reason to hope. And poor Wig was so frightened that he shifted into an earthworm and buried himself in the dirt, refusing to come out, even when I swore to him that everything was going to be all right.

But of course, he knows better.

Wig is a simple, sweet creature, but he isn’t a fool. He knows that plantings are bred to obey, and that every nightmare slinks through the night at the pleasure of she who planted it. We can no more refuse Mother’s will than the sun can refuse to rise.

If I defy the one who made me, I will wither and perish.

Unless I can find a way out in the next two days—some way to break the hold Mother has over me before the moon begins a fresh cycle and I’m summoned back to my work.

But how? We fix the boat Poke found and rush back to Declan’s island and the protection of his father’s wards?

But those wards will inevitably kill me, too. It will take longer than defying my calling—a pillow over my face, rather than a knife drawn across my throat—but the end result will be the same.

No, that isn’t a solution. It’s just a delay of the inevitable.

I have to find Poke and convince him to talk this through. Surely, once I assure him that I don’t expect him to go rogue with me, he’ll be more open to discussion.

But even as the thought rolls through my head, I know it isn’t true. Poke isn’t afraid for his own life, he’s afraid for mine. The same with Wig. They are true, dear friends who I will miss desperately, no matter how this ends.

Swinging my feet out from under the covers, I pause, letting my toes trail back and forth across the smooth floorboards while the sun warms my face. In this moment, there is nothing evil or frightening or wrong. There is just my breath and the opportunity of a new day and the smell of something sweet cooking in the kitchen.

Silently, I vow to stay in this mental space as much as I possibly can. If I only have a short time left on earth, I want to make the most of it, and that will be impossible if I’m locked in dread’s embrace for the next two days.

Hanging my borrowed nightgown on a hook on the wall beside Adrina’s—who is apparently already up and about—I change into a dress laid out on the bench at the foot of the bed, grateful not to spend the day in saltwater-stiff cloth. I comb my dye-sticky hair with my fingers, plaiting it into a braid as I wander into the kitchen.

There, I’m greeted with smiles from Adrina and her mother, who are pulling fruit tarts from the oven above the fireplace and setting them to cool on racks on the tall table in the center of the room.

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