“Up.” Emerald beckoned us to a far door. “We might not be running, but I won’t abide slowness.”
She led us to a greenhouse with a fancy combination lock, glass walls, and pointed ceilings taller than most of the surrounding trees shining in the early morning sun. Trellises crawling with twining orange sunrise roses lined the inside walls; hanging gardens dripped with dark-green, leafy vines and midnight-blue flowers; and a curtain of soft green thyme spilled over the planter above the door. Emerald held the vines aside for us before pulling on a pair of thick leather gloves. I slipped through the door after Four. Eleven slunk away from us.
No surprise that she knew her poisons.
Water settled over my skin. The air was thick with it—drops of it beading on my arms and the damp scent of dirt filling my nose. My shoes clicked softly against the boards laid over the ground, designed to keep us off the plants, and a bee flitted through the purple bittersweet over my right shoulder. Ten leaned over a cluster of snowbells.
“Do not touch anything while you are in here unless I tell you to do so.” Emerald circled behind a worktable in the center of the floor. Her green cotton tunic and brown trousers were well made but comfortable looking, and mud streaked her gloves. A tiny butter-yellow flower clung to her sleeve. “If you do and it’s poisonous, I cannot guarantee I can save you. Or that I’ll try. I’ve more important things to do than fuss over you. Among other things, we’re looking for a certain intelligent drive in all of you to stay alive. Touching plants in a greenhouse full of poisons doesn’t breed confidence.”
I tucked my hands into my pockets. I was fairly comfortable that no one could harm me in here without being caught, and I was rested enough to yank my hands free in time to block a blow. It was only last night, but I already felt worlds better without paranoia and exhaustion hanging over me.
“Anyone in this world could kill you if they tried hard enough, and the same is true of plants.” She picked up a small yucca root. “I’m sure most of you have eaten this one way or another. There’s a reason yucca is treated before it’s eaten.
“As a member of the Left Hand, you’ll use poisons that kill quickly with little effort, if you use them at all. You’ll encounter all sorts.” She beckoned us forward with a finger and pointed behind her to a forest of dangling white flowers and thorny blossoms. “I’m going to show you the most common poisonous plants and describe their symptoms. Odds are that you won’t know you’ve been poisoned until it’s too late, unless you’re well trained. In the coming days, I will test you on how to detect them in your food and drink. Avoidance is the first key to survival.”
“But wouldn’t learning how to survive them be more useful?” Fifteen pointed to the yucca on the table, fingers crooked. He was a boxer through and through. “Knowing how not to die?”
“I’m not here to keep you alive. I’m here to make you deadlier than you already are. I am here because whichever of you rises to the top and becomes Opal is going to need to know this, not because the lot of you could be poisoned,” Emerald said. “Your survival depends on you, not me.”
No one else asked questions. Emerald led us through the room—a silent parade of furrow-browed auditioners. She lingered over a bundle of long green stems crowned with blue flowers and swarming with swan moths. Another bunch of the same plant with yellow flowers was next to it. She plucked a leaf.
“Eating is not the only way to die.” She rubbed the leaf between her gloves, crushing it till it was paste. “Touching one of these with your bare skin could kill you.”
Great.
Emerald exchanged her gloves for a fresh set and led us to a corner with small flowering shrubs that had dangling orange blooms and a deep pleasant scent. Another plant growing in its shadow had small green leaves with wicked points and bell-like white petals that deepened to dark velvety purple. The contrast was pretty.
“There are certain qualities that give away a plant’s defenses.” Emerald bent at the waist and plucked up one of the white bells. She held it close to the left eyehole of her mask. “Bright colors where they shouldn’t be.” Purple stripes lined the stem of the plant. “Thorns and spikes, shiny leaves and white sap—all indicate that a plant is probably poisonous. If you have the misfortune of tasting one, it will be bitter.”
She laid the stem next to its mother plant and held a hand over the dangling orange flowers. This shrub displayed none of those characteristics.
This was going to be fun. My mice would be fat and happy so long as no one tried to poison me, and I’d know what flowers to avoid if stranded and starving in a garden.
Emerald led us around the greenhouse, pointing to flowers and berries as she went. I committed them to memory—thorns, three leaves, bright colors—and hung back behind the rest of the group. The glass walls were practically impenetrable with their climbing vines and walkways. Eleven was either plotting or resting.
Five and Six were gone. If I stayed in these sessions, no matter how much I needed them, I’d be dead by morning. I needed time to plan my survival. These lessons were too predictable—same times, same places, every day—and the others had the advantage when I was stuck in these sessions.
Long after the damp dimpled my skin, Emerald removed her gloves and shooed us from the building. The heat outside scoured my lungs and dried me out, and I twisted my head toward the sky. It was well past midday. Maybe we were lucky and Five and Six had killed each other.
At least there were no high spots here for archers to pick us off.
“This way please.” Ruby’s red-collared servant bowed before us and started walking down a path.
I glanced at the others. Eleven and Five had slipped back into the crowd, and Two and Four followed the servant. I followed them with Eleven shuffling behind me. Five’s light, confident strides a few paces behind me echoed in my head. I touched my side.
Lady bless. Was them killing each other too much to ask?
Twenty-Two
A long semicircle table set for a banquet but devoid of food greeted us in Ruby’s domain. There were eight chairs around the table and one seat at the head, slightly raised from the rabble. Ruby lounged across it.
“No.” He waved a hand at us, head lolling back as though he were rolling his eyes, and held up a finger. “All wrong already.”
We all stopped. Five laughed.
Ruby leapt out of his seat and stalked toward us. “I am Lord Ruby of Our Queen’s court, the fourth of the Left Hand. You wait to be granted permission before entering a person’s room—especially if that member is of the Left Hand.”