Red Hood's Revenge

this temple.”
    Snow studied the vines more closely. They were a deep green, mottled with brown. The thorns had a liquid sheen, purple in color. They reminded her of the hedge at Fairytown.
    “Why?” Talia demanded.
    “You know why.” Khardija put a hand on Talia’s shoulder. “Every temple has such a vineyard, to remind us of our beginnings. I know the sight brings you pain, my dear Talia. Just as you know some pain is natural. Pain alerts us to injury, reminds us to take the time to heal. Ignore the pain, and the wound festers.”
    “Your lectures haven’t changed,” Talia said.
    Khardija smiled. “Neither has your stubbornness.”
    Snow knelt to study the vines. The plants hummed with fairy magic. “These are from the hedge that surrounded Talia’s palace. I thought they died with her curse.”
    “The land around Princess Talia’s palace could no longer sustain them,” Khardija said. “We saved cuttings from the dying hedge. Replanted here, they would overgrow the temple if not carefully tended.” Laugh lines deepened in her cheeks. “When kept under control, the vines produce a small, potent fruit, like tiny yellow grapes. Sales of fairy wine help to support our work here, allowing us to help those who cannot afford the services of the larger temples.”
    “Do you know how many people died on these thorns?” Talia demanded.
    Khardija straightened, her expression hardening. “Remember whom you address, Talia. I served at the first temple for sixteen years before coming here. I know their names. While you slept, I listened to their cries. It’s for them that I tend this plant. For them and for yourself, to make certain nobody ever forgets.”
    While Khardija’s attention was elsewhere, Snow slipped her knife free and cut a small length of vine. She wrapped it in the folds of her gown, careful to avoid the thorns. The hedge at Fairytown was a mere imitation of Talia’s hedge; this was a chance to study the real thing.
    “I apologize.”
    Snow whirled, trying to remember the last time she had heard those words from Talia. From the expression on Danielle’s face, she was as surprised as Snow.
    Mother Khardija embraced Talia again. “Your anger is healthy. I prefer it to the silent stone you were when I first met you.” She gestured toward the far side of the garden. “Come, all of you. You need food and rest.” To Talia, she added, “My rules still hold, Princess.”
    Talia actually blushed. “Yes, Mother.”
    “What rules?” Snow demanded.
    Talia shrugged. “No wandering the tops of the walls or sneaking into the city. No stealing from the patients.” She glanced at the vines. “No ripping those accursed things from the ground and burning them.”
    Khardija chuckled as she led them into another hallway. They passed several other women in black robes before stopping at an arched doorway. Khardija pushed a curtain of goat wool to the side, waiting as they passed into an unfurnished room. Heavy carpets covered the ground. Several sleeping mats were rolled in one corner. A single lamp sat in a round window.
    The ceiling was a heavy woven mat of undyed wool, stretched taut over the brick walls. Wooden pegs protruded from the walls just beneath the ceiling. Six black robes hung on the left wall.
    Khardija gripped Talia’s arms, an odd expression of pride and anticipation on her face. “Welcome back, Princess.”
    Snow waited for her to leave before asking, “What next?”
    Talia paced slowly through the room, brushing her fingers over the wall. “There’s little more we can do tonight. You’re safe here, for now. Eat, rest. Tomorrow we hunt Zestan.”
     
    Talia’s bare feet made no sound as she finished her walk. She kept the hood of her robe pulled low, hiding her face. Khardija wasn’t the only one who might remember her, but she was the only one Talia truly trusted.
    The temple hadn’t changed in her years away. The same dusty air, the same cracking walls, the same bland food. Even the temple cats were familiar.
    She watched a lean young cat disappear into the garden, stalking prey Talia couldn’t see. One of the tuft-tailed mice that were always nibbling the shoots in the garden, no doubt. Talia could see the kitten’s resemblance to its mother, a pitiful old thing named Akhar’ba who had the same mottled fur, at least where that fur wasn’t falling out in clumps. Danielle would have liked her. The sisters had tended to Akhar’ba with the same care they provided