Chapter 35
Saffron
Saffron looked up at the Green Jill sleeping serenely in a tree. Only her pale hair gave her away, and the profusion of white berries in her mask which was drawn down to cover her face. “I’m not sleeping in a tree,” Saffron said.
“You don’t have to,” Annie grinned. “Madeleine just prefers the forest.”
Saffron noticed the lines of silky scar tissue on the wrists dangling over them. “What happened to her?”
“We got her out of a Directorate farm dome. Eventually. She’s never entirely recovered.”
Her wrist bones nearly poked through translucent skin. “How long ago was that?” Saffron asked.
“A year and a half.” Annie’s smile slipped.
Saffron stepped back. “I’m going to need more knives.”
Annie nodded. “I can fix you up. After.”
Saffron felt something dangerously close to a pout forming on her face. “I’m not exactly the meditating type.” And it wasn’t the kind of training she had in mind. Frankly, she’d rather eat dirt.
“A shocking revelation.”
“I don’t see the point.”
“Because you haven’t done it yet,” Annie pointed out.
“Are you telling me, you meditate?”
Annie snorted.
“Thought so,” Saffron muttered.
“I’m not a Green Jill.”
Saffron lifted the leaf mask off her head, though the burst of her braids. “Want to trade places?”
“That’s not funny,” a Green Jack stormed out of the trees. His mask was a profusion of oak leaves, elm leaves, all sharp and pointed as swords. “It’s a gift, an honour.”
Saffron shrugged. “Easy, Jack. It’s not a gift I asked for.”
“People die for us. You should be grateful.”
“And you should probably back the hell off.” Saffron returned, easing slightly sideways into a bar brawl stance. He towered over her, tall and heavily muscled enough to remind her of Iago from the sideshow. She doubted he’d let her throw knives at him like Iago did though.
Annie slipped between them, expression stern. “Enough.” She lifted both her elbows, jabbing each of them in the solar plexus at the same time. “Saffron, meet Hakim. Hakim meet Saffron.”
“You started without me,” someone drawled, interrupting. “And you know how I love foreplay.”
Saffron turned an incredulous glare at the newcomer. Another Green Jack, but this one was smirking and shirtless. In fact, he didn’t appear to be wearing much more than leaves.
Annie sighed at him. “River, I thought we talked about wearing pants.”
“But think of camp morale,” he grinned. “My fine ass is the very best morale booster.”
“Is he for real?” Saffron asked.
“Unfortunately,” Hakim replied.
“You’re the new Jill,” River said, circling Saffron. “Lovely.” He leaned closer.
“I wouldn’t.”Saffron raised an eyebrow.
“Pity.” He flicked one of the burrs clinging to her hair, “Weeds and spiky plants, my little thistle. But you’re still not the most dangerous one of us.”
She flicked a glance to Hakim’s muscles. Amused, River shook his head. He pointed to Madeleine. “Mistletoe and snowberries, all poisonous.” He reached up to tickle her palm. “Wake up, beautiful.” When her fingers entwined with his, he tugged her out of the tree, catching her when she fell. Her long hair brushed the ground, scattering berries. She backed away, eyes wide, when she saw Saffron.
“It’s okay,” Annie assured her briskly. “This is Saffron.”
Saffron had no idea how to deal with frail, damaged girls. She tried to smile but Madeleine only blanched. “Too many knives on you,” River explained. Saffron only had two, which wasn’t nearly enough.
“Which is why she likes me so much-- she knows I’m not hiding anything.” He slung an arm over Saffron’s shoulders. “Come on, Jill, tell me all about your fine self.”
Knowing he was trying to defuse the tension to comfort Madeleine, Saffron let him keep his arm. She wasn’t sure where to look though, it was a considerable amount of bare skin beside her. “You can sneak a peek,” he whispered. “Everyone does.”
“It’s not sneaking a peek when it’s on display.”
“So you’ve already looked then?”
Saffron tried not to laugh but his charm, overblown as it was, was fatally contagious. “Are you always like this?”
“I’m on my best behaviour, my thistle.”
“Nico must just hate you.”
“I believe in sharing.” He winked. “Though he believes in competition. He is, of course, losing.”
“Is flirting your numen power?”
He let his gaze drift down to her mouth, linger. “No.”
Saffron did not blush. It was just unbearably humid, hot air pressing in from all directions. Her leaf mask felt heavier. The grape leaves on his mask waved at her. “I’m in the cabin by the lake,” he murmured, his breath tickling her ear.
She leaned closer. “River?”
“Yes?”
“I don’t care.”
He paused for a beat, then burst out laughing. “I like you, thistle.”
“Yes, and I can tell you’ve got such discretion,” she shot back, but she was smiling. By the time they reached the Mother Tree, they had to push through thick veils of leaves, flowers, even ribbons of moss hanging from dead branches. Four other Greencoats waited for them, fully armed. Hakim stopped Saffron. “No weapons inside the grove.”
Saffron dropped her daggers in a cavity between two tree roots. “I already hate this,” she muttered, following the others to the Mother Tree.
But the peace of the grove seeped into her, despite her reluctance. River grinned. “Your mask originated here.”
“How do you know that?” Saffron asked.
“Because you were drawn here.”
“My Oona told me to come here.”
“Same thing.” He pointed to the greenery around her feet. “Plus, the local plants are responding to you. Only mistletoe and oak respond that fast to Madeleine. Her mask comes from across the sea. No one knows how it got here.”
Madeleine’s movements became less guarded, less wounded, until she practically floated up the tree. “Where’s your mask from?” Saffron asked him.
“Here as well,” he practically purred at the leaves that brushed his bare shoulders.
“You’re going to perv on the tree, aren’t you?” She asked him.
“Jealous?”
“Delusional?”
Saffron stood awkwardly while the others gravitated to their preferred spots. Madeleine curled into the large roots, Hakim pressed against the trunk, and River stretched out on his back, winking. Saffron paced around them, feeling like an idiot. A peaceful, grounded, idiot, but still an idiot. If Killian could see her now, he’d fall over laughing.
“You’re supposed to relax,” River said.
“This is me, relaxed.”
He laughed softly. “Just breathe, thistle.”
When Madeleine began humming softly to herself Saffron shook her head. “This is even worse than I thought. I’m out of here. “
Rivers fingers closed around her ankle. “Just give it a minute.”
“River, if you don’t let go I will break all of your fingers. And then what will you do in your spare time?”
He sat, lascivious grin turning serious. “It will make you stronger.”
“Is this what this is about? I’d rather be training.”
“This is how we train. The more time we spend with the Mother Tree, the stronger we get. If you have reserves, you can survive longer if the Directorate get to you.”
“Survive so they can drain us longer?” She glanced at Madeleine.
“No, survive until we get rescued.”
“I didn’t need rescuing until I got here,” she grumbled.
“Think of it
as another weapon in your arsenal then. If you’re strong enough, you can take the leaf mask off for days at a time. And eventually you can control the effects.”
She thought of the grass growing as she’d been trying to sneak out of the City. Of the bodies piled up on Festival days. “Does the Directorate know that?” She didn’t remember hearing about it at the Green Jack museum in the Rings where school children visited every time the seasons changed.
River shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, does it? The Forest won’t let them in.”
“How does it even know?”
“The trees can read us if we have a mask; or if we’ve been here long enough. The Directorate are strangers and they carry too many guns, too much metal. Now would you just sit down and try.”
Saffron sighed. “Fine. If it means I won’t be sucked dry by this stupid mask.” She sat down but she refused to close her eyes. And she sure as hell wasn’t going to start chanting. At least the Feral ceremonies had made sense to her. Even if they had nearly killed her. “Do the masks make mistakes?” She asked quietly
River turned his head. “What you mean?”
“I mean, why me? Why any of us?”
River shrugged, lean and beautiful in the greenery. “Different trees need different soil.”
“Is that what we are? Soil?”
“Isn’t that what any of us are? In the end?”
“Great,” she groaned. “A philosopher.”
“And yet you’re the one thinking too hard,” he said. “The leaf masks are like the forest, like all green things. Magic, mystery. Instinct.” He shrugged again. “Just close your eyes and jump.”
“That’s how you land on your head and crack it open.”
“Maybe. But sometimes it’s how you fly.”
She rubbed her tailbone. It felt like roots were growing out of her spine. She glanced behind her once, just in case.
“That just means it’s working,” River said. “Jump, Thistle.”
Green Jack Page 35
