I didn’t want to talk about anything. I wanted to know what the weird grass was.
Rubi sighed and squatted beside me, the top hat perched on his head sliding to almost twat me in the face. “The good father already asked. It’s fucking chamomile, and you can make hippie tea with it later. Now stop fingering the plants and come talk to the registrar.”
He tried to tug me to my feet.
I resisted. “Why?”
“Because they’re going to tell you where to stand.”
“I know where to stand.”
Next to Decoy, he’d been perfectly fucking clear.
But it wasn’t enough for Rubi. Not today. “You’re only going to do this once, Sainty. It won’t kill you to follow the rules for a hot second.”
I gave in and let him hustle me to an orchard where a woman with a clipboard waited. She stood near an ancient apple tree. It had twisted branches and gnarly bark, the rivets in the trunk like the wrinkles of a wise old man.
“For fuck’s sake.” Rubi grew brave enough to grab me, hauling me to where he stood. “I told you, the Monty Don shit comes later.”
“What?”
He pointed at the registrar. “Listen.”
With a last, longing gaze at the tree, I did as I was told and endured the most pointless conversation of my fucking life.
“Stand there. Give Seth the ring when I tell you to.”
I went back to the tree and circled the trunk, finding new ones beyond it. Pear trees, cherry trees, and another I didn’t recognise.
“Mulberry.” Cam slid into my orbit and pressed his chest to my back. “There was one at the compound when we first came, but some idiot brother set fire to it.”
“Did you kill him?”
“No, I was eight. But whenever I think about it these days, I always come away knowing you’d have throttled him however old you were.”
Couldn’t deny it. Instead I focused on how good Cam felt at my back instead of the growing sensation ofpeoplebehind me.
Folk’s people.
Ourpeople.
Knowing that didn’t change who I was, and I fucking knew Cam hadn’t come over here to talk about trees. Or murder. Not at a wedding.
A double wedding.
Cam threaded an arm around my chest. “River forgot his shoes.”
“Maybe he can cut up Rubi’s hat and make some.”
“You gave him that hat.”
My brain clicked, like it had become prone to since the fire, when things I’d forgotten came back to me. “I got him in the first secret Santa after your mum died. I think he rigged it so no one else got my shitty present.”
“You don’t give shitty presents. Ask Viktor.”
“Viktor’s not here.”
“Yes, he is. He got in last night.”