Still Love You

The snake snapped at the glass while Rowan held the greenhouse door open and told me I had nothing to worry about. I stood with a tray balanced against my hip, rain ticking against the panes overhead. Inside the west greenhouse, two familiar cages sat beneath the warming lamps. One held a silver-scaled serpent no longer than my forearm. The other held a gray one so thin its ribs showed through dull skin. "Which one is Ivy's?" I asked. "The silver one." Rowan glanced at the clock above the door. "She hasn't eaten since the binding accident. You need to coax her." "And the gray one?" "Old stock. Don't touch it." He leaned closer, voice softening into the tone he had used since we were children sneaking out of our families' houses. "The silver one likes sunfish. Not the little red packets. Those are for the old stock." I looked at the tray. Two bowls. One with sunfish, one with small red pellets. "You could feed her yourself." "I could," he said, "but Ivy trusts you. She'll be back on her feet by the weekend. This is the kind of thing that makes her feel welcome." I looked through the glass at the silver snake. It watched me with bright, beadlike eyes. The gray one had its head tucked under a coil, barely moving. Rowan touched my wrist. "I'll be here for the inspection at four. If anything goes wrong, tell me." I knew that was supposed to be reassuring. Instead, it made my stomach tighten. Rowan had spent the last month drifting between Ivy's room and the infirmary, carrying her tea, checking the wards around her window. He had barely spoken to me unless he needed something. I told myself that was temporary. We had known each other too long for anything else. I opened the latch on the silver snake's enclosure and set the sunfish inside. The snake recoiled into its hide. I waited. Nothing. Then the gray serpent lifted its head. It was hard to see its eyes beneath the dusty glass, but I could see the line of its mouth. Its body was almost colorless, the dull gray of old ash. I thought of it curled in the corner, ribs visible, and felt a small, unwanted sting of pity. "Don't touch it," Rowan said again. "I heard you." I took the red-pellet bowl and set it just inside the silver snake's cage. The door had barely clicked shut when the gray serpent struck the glass. The sound made me flinch. I looked at the labels. The silver snake's tag had slipped sideways, obscured by the latch. The gray one had a strip of tape across its label, too faded to read. I remembered Rowan's instruction: red pellets for the old stock. So I put the pellets into the gray snake's bowl. It ate them all. By the next morning, its ribs were less visible. By the end of the week, it had grown long enough to coil around the entire wooden perch. I should have told Rowan. I should have stopped. Instead, I brought it food each evening, telling myself I was keeping it alive until the staff noticed. It was the first time in months I had felt useful. Ivy returned to the greenhouse on the ninth day. She wore a soft gray sweater, her left wrist wrapped in a support brace. Rowan walked beside her, carrying a mug of tea. She stood by the silver snake's enclosure and frowned. "This isn't the one you fed, is it?" she asked me. My hands went cold. "I thought it was." Rowan's eyes settled on me. "You fed the gray one?" "I thought you said the red pellets were for the old stock." "I said the red pellets were for the old stock." His voice was quiet, but the words were sharp. "The sunfish were for Ivy's familiar." I looked at the bowl inside the silver snake's cage. The sunfish were still untouched. "Why didn't you stop me?" "I told you which one to feed." Ivy stared through the glass. "That serpent is huge." It had grown. Its body filled the enclosure, thick coils pressed against the glass. One pale gold eye followed us. "Get Master Vale," Rowan said. Master Vale had been sealed in her chambers for three months, recovering from a dangerous spell injury. No one was supposed to disturb her. The serpent struck the glass again. A hairline c***k appeared beneath its jaw. Rowan took a step back. Ivy grabbed his sleeve. I stayed where I was. I could still see the small, starved body the snake had been, the first time I'd opened the greenhouse door. "I fed it," I said. "I'll take responsibility." The glass cracked again. Then a bell rang from the main house. Once. Twice. Three times. Master Vale had opened the sealed doors. *****