“I know,” he says. “It’s just…”
He hesitates. He has the look of someone who’s about to have an emotion and is desperately trying to fight it off.
“They almost killed you,” he says finally, and I hear the tiniest crack in his voice.
Verene’s face softens. “You would have liked that, wouldn’t you? I know it’s your dream to be the Heart of Iris. I know you secretly wish all the fountains had pretty statues of you.”
“I am prettier,” he says.
She punches him in the arm. Then, abruptly, she sighs and leans into him. She puts her chin on his shoulder and closes her eyes and for a moment, she just rests there. He sits patiently, like he’d let her stay for hours if she needed.
But he’s also quietly fiddling with his gloves. There’s something strange and agitated about it.
Verene pulls away and stands up. “We need to search faster. I’m not letting anyone else get the satisfaction of catching her.”
Me. She’s talking about me. It’s obvious, of course, but the knowledge gives me a little thrill.
Her gaze goes, one more time, to the trellis that I’m hiding behind. It lingers for a little too long, like maybe the shadows look different to her than they did before. I hold my breath.
But she turns away. We stay crouched between the wheelbarrow as the greenhouse door opens and shuts. I listen to their footsteps fade away.
“He knows I took it,” Ale whispers.
“What?” I say.
“He knows I took the map,” he says. “That was when we started fighting. He was trying to get it back.” He hesitates. “Why isn’t he telling her?”
I don’t know. My eyes go back to the trellis where the twins were sitting.
“And did you hear anything that will get us closer to figuring out how to stop the ghost?” Ale continues.
“The vide, you mean?” I say. “That’s what they called it.”
“The vide, then,” he says. “Did you hear anything… useful?”
I heard a lot of things that could be useful. I don’t fully understand them yet. But I want to. I need to.
“Give me the map,” I say. If it’s even more important than we thought, it’s obvious which one of us should be carrying it.
Ale fiddles with his shirt pocket. I don’t know why he looks so reluctant. It’s not like it’s his personal map.
“Are you willing to stab someone again to protect it?” I say. “Because I am.”
He hands it over. I unfold it and examine it once more. I study the maze of tunnels between Occhia and Iris, and for the first time, I notice that one path has been gone over several more times, emphasized in red ink. It connects the center of Iris to the watercrea’s tower in Occhia. And then, it connects every other tower in every other city. From underground well to underground well, forming a ring of water.
For a moment, I survey the six other cities. I try to imagine what their rulers are like. I try to imagine what these mysterious people I’ve never met are doing right now, as night turns to early morning. There’s so much else out there. There’s so much to see and so much to do.
“What are you looking at?” Ale says. “Is there something else—”
I fold the map up and shove it in my pocket. Ale starts to stand up.
“Wait.” I grab his sleeve and pull him back down.
“What?” he says. “Didn’t you hear them walk away?”
But I saw the way Verene studied our trellis. If she really wanted to find me, she should have ventured back here and searched more thoroughly. And she looked like she really wanted to find me.
I open up the basket I’ve been lugging around. “It’s time for a change of clothes.”
As it turns out, the disguises I hastily stole from a garden party leave something to be desired. There’s only enough for me. I refuse to part with my green dress, in case I need to look fabulous later, so I tuck the skirts around my hips and stuff myself into a pair of pants. I pull a cap low over my eyes. As a finishing touch, I take some of the chocolate spread from the basket and smear it on my lip.
“What?” I say as Ale eyes me. “Are you jealous of my mustache?”
He’s always wanted a mustache.
“What am I supposed to do?” he says.
“Get in the wheelbarrow,” I say. “I’ll hide you and take us to the next greenhouse so we can keep searching. Would Verene dare attack a lone worker going about their business?”
“I’m not going to fit in the wheelbarrow,” he says.
“I’ll make you fit,” I say.
“But—” he says.
I make him fit. When I cover him with a tarp, he looks like a pile of anxious bones.
“Don’t fidget,” I tell him, and start pushing.
The door to the greenhouse, like the rest of it, is made of glass. I don’t see any signs of life on the dark street outside, so I head toward it with all the confidence I possess.
Then I discover that the door has been locked from the outside.
“Oh,” I say. “I see.”
“What?” Ale says, muffled.
I don’t know why Verene thinks she can lock me in a room made of glass. I have no qualms about breaking one of Iris’s pretty little buildings.
I back up.
“Stay under the tarp, Ale,” I say.
“What?” he says, squeakier.
I’m bracing myself for the charge when everything goes dark. I try to breathe and find that I can’t.
There’s a bag over my head. Somebody is grabbing my wrists. They’re tying me up.
“This is my city,” Verene’s voice says in my ear. “I know it better than you ever will. I even know how to climb through a greenhouse window without being—”
There’s a loud crash that sounds very much like the wheelbarrow falling over.
“Theo!” Verene says. “What are you doing? You can’t let him get away—”
“Oh, I can’t?” Theo says. “Thanks for reminding me. I definitely forgot after he stabbed me—”
I hear scampering feet and breaking glass. But I can’t tell what’s happening to Ale, and I can’t help him, because I’m too busy fighting Verene. When I try to break free, she tightens her grip. We hit the floor and struggle viciously. I do a lot of kicking, because the rest of me is rather restrained, but before I know it, she’s sitting on my feet, pinning me down.
She pulls the bag off my head. She’s managed to get me behind one of the trellises, and even in the dark, the triumph on her face is clear.
Ale is nowhere to be found.
“Well?” Verene sits back. “How does it feel to be someone else’s captive? It’s not fun, is it?”
I shrug. “I’ve had better.”
Instantly, her triumph turns to irritation. Her eyes flicker over me, just for a moment, and I realize that during the fight, my new pants ended up down to my ankles. It exposes the fact that my skirts are ridden up awkwardly around my thighs. With my hands tied, of course, there’s nothing I can do about it.
She grabs my skirts and yanks them down, covering me up hastily, like one would cover a disgusting wound. It’s rather offensive. But, I have to admit, it’s also a relief.