Green Jack (23 page)

“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.”

Chapter
36

Jane

Jane swung her
staff up as hard as she could, her palms burning with the effort.
Caradoc’s staff slammed into hers, the iron guard ringing like a
bell between her hands. The tremors rolled up her quivering arms to
her shoulders “Keep your guard up,” Caradoc snapped in that low
fierce voice. “This isn’t a recital.”

The sun glared
down at them between the leaves, Caradoc glared at her between the
branches. She hoped fervently that he would attribute her flushed
cheeks to the heat, instead of the fact that she was a furnace of
mortification and frustration burning from the inside out. He
thought she was spoiled and useless, and she was proving him right.
She’d assumed that with enough training she could learn to fight,
and he was proving her wrong. She wanted to start running and not
stop until she was clear out of the Spirit Forest.

Instead, she
told herself to be stronger, be better; her mother’s voice cutting
through her limp defeat. She had just enough time to bend her knees
and brace herself as Caradoc came after her again. He was barely
trying, and he was still so ferocious, it was mesmerizing. She
stumbled back, tripping over a root. The end of his staff whistled
toward her throat. She went sideways, pretending she was launching
into a run. Instead, she darted right, sprinted.

“Good!” Caradoc
called out. She felt a small bloom of pride, right before he
smacked her backside and sent her sprawling. She lay in the dirt,
lungs cramped around a sharp breath. Her tailbone throbbed, her
left palm stung. “You’re still not strong enough.” His dark honey
hair was dry while hers was a damp mess of tangles and twigs.

She closed her
eyes, hiding a small ridiculous flash of hurt. He’d think her weak
again, if

he thought of
her at all. It wasn’t her fault she thought of him all of the time.
He must be used to it. “I know,” she said as simply as she could.
His blue eyes narrowed dangerously. She froze, wondering where the
anger had suddenly come from. He had to know she was trying.

“Get up.”

She pushed to
her feet, ready to dodge more blows aimed at her head. He gripped
her wrist and hauled her up when she didn’t move fast enough. His
fingers stayed pressed against her pulse; it tapped like a
woodpecker leaving secret messages.

“What have you
done to yourself?” He demanded. He was scowling at the wraps around
her hands, now smeared with blood. She was half-tempted to read the
patterns of the stains: an orchid, a running horse, fire.
“Jane.”

She shrugged.
“I was practicing.”

He held her
gaze for a long moment. He was as unflinching and unforgiving as
the sun. She may as well be naked.

He cursed
softly under his breath before leading her sharply between the
pines. He took her to his cabin then stopped, realizing that he was
still holding her wrist. He dropped her arm, but she still felt his
touch like a brand. “Sit down.” He nodded to a tree stump polished
into a stool. He opened a tin box filled with an assortment of
liquids in glass bottles, sutures, and bandages. He pulled out a
small blue bottle.

“I have a
healing salve in my pack,” she said softly. “You don’t have to
waste yours.” At least she’d come prepared. It helped her feel less
like the child he must think her, all wide eyes and stupid
mistakes.

He used the
dagger from his belt to slice through the knots of her bandages,
ignoring her comment. His expression was stern but his hands were
surprisingly gentle, even with the faded scars crossed the
knuckles. The material stuck to her broken skin and he pulled it
clear, carefully but quickly. He wasn’t the type to save you
necessary pain, but he wouldn’t compound it either. The blisters at
the base of her fingers had burst, raw and messy.

“You have to
take care of your hands, damn it.” He dabbed at the cuts with a
clear liquid that smelled antiseptic and burned like fire. “If
infection sets in, you could lose them. Is that what you want?”

“Of course
not,” she replied quietly, gathering the few threads of dignity
still left to her. He was talking to her as if she was a child, the
only thing she could do was not respond like one. “But I have to
train, don’t I? You said it yourself. I’m no good.”

He swore again,
closing his eyes briefly.

“I know you
don’t want me here,” she added.

“You don’t know
anything.” When he opened his eyes again, she knew he was seeing
Jane, not the little girl from the Enclave. She caught her breath
when he stroked a strand of damp hair off her cheek. “Who broke
you, beautiful?” He asked. “And why the hell do you keep handing
everyone the weapon?”

She didn’t know
what to say. She felt as raw as her blisters. His fingers slipped
further into her hair, titling her face toward him. “Don’t,” he
added hoarsely. “Don’t let us keep breaking you.”

He was standing
so close his legs were between her knees. She could see the stubble
on his jaw, the scar too close to his jugular. He glanced at her
lips and she felt the recognition chase up her spine. She was sure
he was going to kiss her, could already feel his mouth on hers when
he stepped back.

“Ease off the
weapons training until your hands heal.”

Chapter
37

Saffron

“Shouldn’t you
be meditating with the other Jacks?” Roarke asked. “It’s supposed
to be good for you.

“Kicking ass on
the training field would be good for me,” she said accusingly. “But
I can’t because no one wants to punch a Green Jill.”

Roarke grinned
his crooked grin. “I kind of do.”

“Tease.”

The moment
stretched, suddenly composed of sunlight and silence and a
simmering awareness that took her by surprise. Dandelion flowers
brushed her brows.

“Come with me,”
Roarke said finally, shoving his hands in his pockets with the kind
of force that suggested he was stopping himself from doing
something else with them.

She eyed him
suspiciously. “Why?”

“Just come on.
Is everything a fight with you?”

“Yes.” But she
followed him because, as always, curiosity was stronger than common
sense.

He cut behind
the cabins to a garden of herbs. “Vegetable gardens are safe but
the raid took out this section. We need the herbs for tinctures and
medicines, more than the deer and the rabbits need them.” Mint and
parsley and rosemary grew in fragrant bushes behind a damaged
fence. The smell of smoke lingered, even under the herbs responding
to her presence. The basil flowered as she watched it. “Fence needs
rebuilding,” Roarke said casually. “Interested?”

“Thank God,”
Saffron replied immediately. “Pass me the hammer.”

He handed it to
her. “Know how to use it?”

“Not a clue,”
she said cheerfully. “I assume I just bash at the nails.”

“Close enough.
We need to move the posts first.”

She tucked the
hammer into her belt and helped him drag heavy cedar posts through
the dirt. By the time they’d finished, her arms ached and she had
half a dozen splinters. She felt instantly better. She might not
bite anyone today after all.

They dragged
the charred and split corner post away, maneuvering a new one in
place. “You don’t actually need that hammer,” Roarke said. “And
wire works better but all we have is rope. Hold that there.” He
pulled tight on the thick rope, winding it into place. The muscles
in his arms and chest strained against his shirt. There were scars
on his forearms.

“How long have
you been a Greencoat?” she asked.