Saturday could not manage to open her eyes, but she knew a cup of cool water in her hands when she felt it. She drained it.
“More,” she croaked, but her stomach was louder.
“This first.” The cup was ripped from her reluctant hands and replaced with bread. Gods of heaven and earth, a small roll of bread. Saturday could imagine it was still warm from her mother’s oven. In her kitchen. At home. On a winter’s day. Or maybe Friday had baked this one, because it was chalky and flat and had a funny spice to it. Her chair at the table was freezing.
“Peter, shut the door.”
There was a crack and a sting in her cheek as Peregrine slapped her.
Saturday’s eyes flew open. In the next heartbeat, she had her dagger pointed at his throat.
He caught her hands in his easily, too easily, and lowered his head to look deep into her eyes. “There she is.”
“Welcome back,” said Betwixt.
“Where—” But Saturday didn’t need to ask. The answers came and disappointed her as quickly as they had upon waking. “Right. Sorry.”
“I hit her and she apologizes!” Peregrine said far too loudly. “I was going to congratulate her on not having lost her mind, but now I’m not so sure.”
The food settled in her nauseous belly and sanity slithered back under her skin. Saturday watched Peregrine’s mouth as he spoke, imagining what it would be like to kiss him once more and telling herself to stop. Warm, she thought. It had been warm in his arms. She’d like to be warm again.
“Her brain’s still addled,” said Betwixt.
Saturday was inclined to agree.
Peregrine handed her another rough bread roll and the cup, which he’d replenished from the helmet at his feet. She drained the cup again and inhaled the roll while he refilled the cup once more. Peregrine emptied the bags of fresh moss and scattered it across the clean room while she chewed and drank and slowly came back to life.
“I’m okay now,” she said finally, glad that he had goaded her into conversation before she was conscious enough to worry about what to say. Actions spoke louder than words and he was helping her, despite the fact that she was about to be the cause of his death. “The witch gave me new tasks. She wants me to find her mushrooms and seeds and some sort of spiced moss.”
“No brownie teeth?” asked Peregrine.
“She must already have some,” said Betwixt.
“What’s a brownie? Wait, no . . . If it has teeth, I think I saw one earlier. What’s spiced moss? And where am I supposed to find seeds in a cave?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll help you with all of it,” said Peregrine. “But first things first. Are you okay enough to help me lug these bags across the mountain?”
Saturday groaned.
“I have a wagon,” he said.
“Really?”
Peregrine shrugged. “It’s a small thing, more of a litter or a wheelbarrow, I suppose, but it’s useful enough. And it functions! Sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“When it doesn’t, he fixes it,” said Betwixt.
“Works for me,” said Saturday.
“And I’ve brought you a change of clothes for that bath I promised.”
“Gods, yes.” Those were the very words she’d wanted to hear. She expected some small retort from Peregrine at her blatant enthusiasm, but when none came, she turned to find him staring at her like an idiot. Seizing the opportunity, she moved to return his earlier favor by slapping him out of his dazed state. He caught her hand before it connected.
“Don’t start,” he said, shaking off his brief catatonia. “That look on your face just reminded me of . . .” He shook his head again and dropped her wrist. “I’ll explain later. Let’s go.”
Saturday jumped up. “Yes, sir!” She wavered a bit as the blood rushed to her head. That was dumb—she should have remembered to rise more slowly. Mama called it the curse of the tall folk.
Peregrine shot her a look. “Remember who you’re addressing, Woodcutter.”
“Yes, ma’am? Whatever.” Saturday tapped her temple. “Addled brain, remember?”
“Fools,” said an exasperated Betwixt.
“Cats,” mocked Peregrine.
The cat in question stuck out his large pink tongue.
Now that her belly was temporarily sated, Saturday’s muscles complained as she hefted the bags onto Peregrine’s strange cart. It had been stupid of her to faint and lie still on such cold ground for so long—the frost from the unforgiving icerock had seeped into her sinew and frozen her limbs stiff once more. As much as she longed to be clean, she loathed the thought of bathing from a metal helmet-basin the same temperature as the walls, but she’d suffer through it if it meant not having to smell herself for another night. Peregrine might even take pity on her and let her sleep by a fire again. If she didn’t open her gob and screw it up first.
Peregrine’s “wagon” had been cobbled together from what looked like the broken wooden handles of axes, spears, and maces. She’d noticed a dwarf’s hammer or two in the armory before their sparring match, but she wondered what Peregrine had used for nails. The wheels of the wagon were shields, hammered down and reinforced with leather straps. It wasn’t the smoothest device she’d ever pulled, but it was indeed functional.
Once the cart had been filled, Saturday grabbed the handles and began jogging down the corridor. “Where are we off to?”
“Let me carry that for a while,” said Peregrine. “You’ve already done enough for today.”
Why was he being nice to her? She’d been nothing but rude to him, and that was before the pyrrhi had come bearing tidings of doom. When Peter was nice to Saturday like this, it was always because he wanted something.
“I need to stay warm,” she told him. “I’ll hand it back over to you when I tire. I promise.”
Peregrine agreed, silly boy. Peter never would have accepted such a deal. He knew that Saturday never tired.
True to her word she ferried the moss all the way to their destination. Peregrine called out twice to get her to stop and change direction, and twice to pick the mushrooms and moss for her second task.
“Do you think it’s wise to collect these ingredients for a spell we’re trying to stop?” she asked him.
“With the amount of magic at her disposal, thanks to your presence, I suspect the ingredients don’t matter much,” he said. “And fulfilling her task will keep you alive long enough to fulfill your destiny.”
“Destiny” was a kind word for the chaos Saturday was meant to unleash here. She only hoped she found her sword first. It would be a shame to die without it.
Saturday did not recognize any part of these caves. She had no idea where they were. It hurt her head less to concentrate on stretching and keeping her footing instead of the twists and turns around and through as their path gently sloped heavenward.
She was grateful that most of the way had been level and wide enough for the cart—only once did they have to unload and reload the wagon, after moving it to an opening several feet off the ground. The air was considerably warmer here. Her muscles relaxed even as her boots slipped on the perspiring rocks beneath her.
Once Saturday was able to relieve herself of her burden, she looked around and lost her breath at the sight.
They had climbed all the way to paradise.
12
Beyond Saving
OF ALL the nooks and crannies Peregrine had discovered in the caves, the garden felt the most like home. Under different circumstances he would have kept this room from Saturday, but their time on the mountain had been cut short. In a fortnight, the garden might no longer exist.