Beastkeeper by Cat Hellisen Page A

pushed a crispy piece of bacon through the remains of her eggs. “Nanna?”
    â€œWhat is it now?”
    â€œWhat happens if you leave here?”
    Instead of answering, her grandmother stared at her for a full minute, then, grim-faced, she got up and swept from the room, her skirt trailing like the broken wings of a bird.

 
    9
    WE MUST BE ENEMIES
    IT TURNED OUT that Nanna’s idea of chores all seemed to be ones that kept Sarah outdoors. Whatever it was that kept the castle running, or fueled Nanna’s magic, perhaps it didn’t extend to the grounds.
    That was fine by Sarah; the castle gave her the creeps. Every moment she was inside its walls she felt as if she were being slowly crushed in a damp stone fist. Even if the sunlight outside was thin and not very warm, it was better than the choking dust and mold inside. And it helped to not be around her grandmother.
    Nanna set Sarah to weeding an area that had once been a vegetable garden. There were still some straggling, yellowed cabbages among the weeds, and a few shriveled beans here and there, but mostly the garden had been left to its own devices. In one far corner, arum lilies grew against a low stone wall, spearing the sky with their green hearts and yellow tongues. They were her mother’s favorite flower, and something about their creamy simplicity made Sarah feel a little better. As if by sitting near them, she was sharing something with her mother.
    They made the corners of her eyes prick, it was true, but after a while she stopped feeling so sad, and instead she talked to the flowers in the same way she had spoken to her mother when she’d come home from school. She shared her thoughts and her worries, until her tongue fell as silent as the lilies’. After that she felt a little better.
    A few bees swirled dazedly around the tall lilies, pausing every so often to crawl along the cool marble throats of the flowers. Her mother had always loved bees, Sarah remembered. She would tell Sarah that bees were good at keeping secrets, that they carried the dead across from this world to the next. All kinds of nonsense Sarah had hardly believed back then. She wondered now if any of it was true. After all, the world was more magical than she’d ever realized.
    One bee landed near her. Sarah paused in her work and stared at it. “And if I told you my secrets,” she whispered, “what would you do with them?”
    The bee neatened its antennae, then flew off toward the forest.
    Sarah turned back to her work. She dug away with her trowel, tidying rows and filling a rusted, decrepit wheelbarrow with weeds. Despite the cold, she was sweating. It was harder work than she was used to, but at least the rain had stopped, and the clouds were thinning and giving way to a faint, watery sunshine.
    â€œI think I’d rather be back at school,” she said to the flowers as she slammed her trowel into the earth and a clump of cold, wet soil rocketed into her eye. “Ugh.” Sarah leaned back and shook the dirt out of her face. And what was going to happen with school? Her father couldn’t have planned on leaving her here for good, cut off from the world, to grow old and mad like Nanna.
    She hoped.
    Thinking about her father made Sarah’s chest go tight and hot. I miss you , she thought, but I don’t even know if you miss me . She had no idea where he was—anything could have happened to him. She remembered the way he’d been before they left to come here. How he’d been all wild about the edges, like a dog who’d missed too many dinners.
    Who was making him food now? He never remembered to eat—it was always Sarah who had to remind him. The thought made Sarah’s heart feel small and scared. And maybe he’d lied to her about how things were going to get better. He’d said everything was going to go back to normal, but instead he’d left her here, with this broken magic.
    He had to