The walls here were solid quartz crystal instead of cloudy calcite and icerock. Ironically, these towering, flowering crystals looked more like ice to him than the rest of the rime-ridden caverns. The ceiling came to a point, creating a clear pyramid, with walls thin enough to let the sunlight through when there was any and the starshine in when there wasn’t. Currently, there wasn’t.
Not that one could track days reliably under this skylight by any means. In Starburn the sun came for summer days and fled for the winter ones, but the Top of the World lay even farther north. If one truly meant to monitor the passing of time, this room would only be good for marking seasons instead of days. Peregrine knew this because, eventually, he had given up on those as well.
He rubbed out the simple ward he’d drawn on the floor to keep the brownies away—something he’d learned from Leila’s book—and led Saturday over the threshold with the wagon. Betwixt carried the lantern he clenched in his beak to a pillar on the far side of the room.
“The garden was here when I arrived,” Peregrine said to Saturday’s stunned silence. He removed a dagger and flint from inside his skirt pocket and set about lighting the torches he’d wedged in between various crystals on the wall. “It was much smaller then, but the rudiments had been started. We’ve built up the soil from the detritus of the other plants that can’t survive this environment and Cwyn’s used peat. That silly magicked rake turned out to be useful after all.”
Saturday paid him little mind. She focused instead on the greenness around her, the life that this garden brought to the dead mountain as it stretched up to the crystal peak. Peregrine remembered feeling that same reverence once, so very long ago, and he hadn’t been born and bred in a forest as she had. It meant the world to him that he could share this with her.
“This garden was Leila’s alone; I’ve never heard the witch mention it, and we’ve never brought it to her attention. I suspect it was one of the reasons Leila devised her plan to escape. Being here does make one miss—”
“Everything,” finished Saturday. Her voice filled with more emotion than he’d thought her willing to share. “The Wood. My family. So much work to do.” The wistfulness in her voice trailed away with the thought. She reached out to caress a leaf of the closest plant. “Seeds. Where did you get the seeds?”
“The same place I got the swords and lanterns: from the dead.” She did not shudder at his words as he might have, but she was a warrior, not he.
“Provisions,” she deduced.
“Most of what they carried was rotted to nothing, but some desiccated seeds remained dormant. Whatever dust I found, I scattered here.”
“Any dust is fair game for compost,” Betwixt added. He flew to a crystal outcropping above the garden and stretched out like a sphinx. “Since most of the dust here is of a magical origin, seeds that might never have sprouted were convinced to do otherwise.”
“We had a garden at home,” said Saturday, “and the Wood has its own bounties, but I don’t recognize many of these plants.”
“Nor did I,” Peregrine admitted. “Some are still a mystery. Many times I didn’t recognize the skeletons from which I took them. Some of the fruits of my labors—”
“Our labors,” corrected Betwixt.
“ . . . our labors—my apologies—have been tested by good old trial and error. Most are palatable. Others are just beautiful. There was a particular inedible orange specimen with incredibly tough skin that stank of sour milk when it blossomed.”
“Trollish,” said Betwixt. “Had to have been.”
“That’s the only plant I’ve ever weeded on purpose. There’s a goblinfruit here that’s unappetizing to look at but delectable on the inside . . . like goblins themselves, I suppose. I was lucky to cultivate a patch of wheat and corn for grains and tea for . . . well, tea. Then there are the more familiar vegetables: the potatoes and gingerroot took quite well, as did the onions and the—”
“—beans,” Saturday finished for him, tilting her head back to admire the winding stalks that grew farthest up the wall, twining in and out and around crystals all the way to the peaked roof. This time she did shudder, but Peregrine hadn’t the faintest idea why.
“But this is my pièce de résistance.” Peregrine moved aside the large leaf that hid his tomato plants from view. Saturday’s eyes widened. She quickly snatched one of the fattest ripe red fruits and sank her teeth into it. Her eyes closed in bliss and she made that face again, the same one she’d made when he’d offered her the bread and the bath.
She had yet to thank him in so many words, but at the moment he’d forgotten what a pest she could be. She couldn’t argue with him if her mouth was full. Peregrine vowed to keep her clean and fed so long as she kept making that face.
Saturday groaned in delight and bit into the tomato once more. Peregrine smiled so hard, his cheeks hurt.
“Behave yourself,” Betwixt said to him.
Peregrine raised both hands innocently. “She’s the one making noises, not me.” He took a full step away from Saturday for good measure, though, in case he accidentally ended up kissing her again.
Saturday took another bite and scowled at them both for interrupting her delightful communion with the divine fruit. She made to wipe the juice from her face with her sleeve and then stopped, no doubt reminded of exactly how disgusting she was from head to toe. “It’s warm in here,” she said with her mouth full, as if she’d only just realized that the change in temperature wasn’t solely from the effort she’d exerted in lugging the cart far longer than she should have.
“The heat, damp, and sun make this spot ideal for growing things,” said Peregrine. He motioned for her to follow his outstretched arm. He did not trust himself to touch her—let her think his need for space was because of the smell.
Their destination lay beyond a thick, low wall of crystal and stone that looked solid but for the steam that rose up from behind it, betraying the true breadth of the cavern. Saturday led the way around the wide outcropping, startling a colony of ice bats. The torchlight caught their clear wings, showering the floor beneath them with sparkles of light. Peregrine tried to stop her as she reached out to the crystalline wings, but he was not close enough to grab her filthy arm in time. Saturday flinched and pulled away fingertips scored with lines of blood.
“Sorry. Should have mentioned those. Crystalwings. They’re as beautiful as they are sharp, and completely useless as a food source. Don’t put that in your mouth.” His fingers slid in the slime that covered her elbow and he quelled his gag reflex. He wasn’t sure how she’d been able to stand herself this long. “Just wash it off.”
The boulder they stood on overlooked a vast chasm, but one could guess from the steam that it was a real lake and not a mirage. Still, Saturday tossed a small handful of the pebbles from her pocket and watched the ripples mar the ceiling’s reflection in happiness.
“Clever girl,” said Peregrine. It had taken him much longer to come up with the same trick.
The water was clear as far down as the meager torchlight permeated. Now that the ripples had dispelled the deceitful reflection, the crystals under the water could be seen. Those at the perimeter were beautiful and sharply pointed. But unlike in most lakes, there was no wildlife, and no discernible bottom.
Peregrine attempted to coax Saturday forward with his voice in an effort to refrain from touching her again. “It’s deep. Impossibly so. The water is heated from the heart of the mountain. This high up it’s tolerable. Pleasant. Blissful, even.”
“For humans,” Betwixt interjected.
“A mile or so down and you’d be boiled alive.”
“The witch would have her stew,” said Saturday.
Threatening to put Jack in her cauldron was one of the witch’s favorite pastimes. “Woodcutter bouillabaisse,” said Peregrine. “Quite the delicacy. Now, if you walk back this way, there’s sort of a path down to—” But she had already removed her clothes.