Page 6 of Grave Flowers

All the fabric missing from the Acusans’ clothing seemed to be used for the palace.

I followed the emissary through a series of large halls and even larger rooms.

Tapestries, draperies, and carpets covered the walls, floors, and windows.

The frames surrounding paintings of the royal family were swathed in beaded fabric, and the paintings themselves had embroidered details.

Thick thread punctured the canvases to form the clothing and backdrops, while rich oils captured the imperious faces. Deceased royals were rimmed in gold. King Claudius’s painting still smelled of fresh paint from the gold that had been added to his. Since we didn’t have any portraits in Radix, I was unnerved at how the eyes seemed to follow me as I walked.

Promptly, I was taken first to the dining hall for a meal.

The table was long enough for fifty, but only I sat at it.

A wild boar, still very much in retention of its original form, was presented to me along with a myriad of smaller dishes.

Everything was terribly colorful. Halved pomegranates with red seeds spilling out like pearls sat among grape clusters and cherries. I was given a spoon, a utensil we never used in Radix.

Acus was known for its food almost as much as its sunshine.

Everything had too much flavor.

Cinnamon, pepper, cardamom, and cloves left my tongue longing for something sour and vinegared.

Afterward, a tankard of melted chocolate was brought for me. It was sweet yet spicy, a lingering touch of chili setting my mouth afire—yet another flavor I wasn’t accustomed to. I tried to imagine its intensity was tart instead of spicy, anything to make it more appetizing. Radixan food was often pickled, salted, and dried to make it last—sustenance was never plentiful there, even during times of prosperity—and our general preference was for anything acidic, bitter, or salty.

I’d only just finished the chocolate when I noticed the dining hall was empty.

The servants who’d continuously bustled in and out were mysteriously gone.

Everything was much too quiet.

The hairs on my neck prickled, and my hand tightened around the ineffectual spoon. I dropped it and lowered my hand, flicking aside the crest on my poison ring.

The door opened.

I jumped to my feet.

A woman swept into the room, followed by a man.

He had his hand on the small of her back. I knew who the woman was immediately and not simply because she wore an elaborate gown and a striking headdress. Rather, her bearing heralded her louder than any words or attire could. She was a queen—Queen Gertrude. Which meant the man was her former brother-in-law and new husband, Prince Lambert. I was meeting my allies for the first time. Swiftly, I closed my poison ring.

I stepped around the table and curtsied deeply to Queen Gertrude.

As befitting his rank, Prince Lambert bowed to me.

“Your Highness, it is a pleasure to meet you,” I said.

Queen Gertrude considered me as I considered her.

Her features—blond hair, blue eyes—seemed secondary to the knowledge of her plot.

When I looked at her, I saw a woman who wished to have her own son assassinated, the fact heightening the cut of her face and making it seem made of stone when I might’ve otherwise thought of glass.

Perhaps it should’ve been shocking to meet a woman whose impulses were murderous rather than maternal.

However, I wasn’t so na?ve.

Mothers were women first, and women could be anything.

They could eat fire and spew it out like dragons just as easily as they could rock a baby to sleep—in fact, they could do both at once: wield a knife while holding a babe. Or that’s how I perceived it. I remembered Mother’s reaction as Father had strangled a man with his drapery cord at a banquet. She nodded to an invisible tempo, as though hearing music. And, when Father had glanced up once, searching her out, she’d dipped her chin, telling him he was doing well, doing right.

“You can see the Fely in her.

Just like the last one.”

Queen Gertrude addressed Prince Lambert, not me.

Wrinkles were setting into her skin.

They surrounded her eyes and mouth and were so delicate, they looked like light-handed etchings.

They became more apparent as her face pinched in displeasure.

“Well, my love, they are something called ‘twins,’”

Prince Lambert responded.

He leveled his own gaze at me, more curious than snide.

He smiled easily.

It made me think he truly was a second-born prince, his birth order allowing him to be noble but nonchalant.

“A pleasure to meet you, Princess Madalina.”

My hands clenched into fists, making my scar burn.

I understood now.

Queen Gertrude didn’t want Fely blood in her grandchildren.

Everyone knew Aeric’s engagement to Inessa had been surprising, and there were many reasons why: our loathsome Sinet reputation, our untamed gifting, our inhospitable terrain and unruly populous that would be more of a burden than a benefit to another monarch as a vassal state—and the fact the Sinet princesses were half Fely. In fact, the only reason Queen Gertrude had allowed the betrothal was probably because she knew it would lead to no heirs and its taint would be returned to its origins once the assassination was completed.

“Thank you for having me.

Acus is beautiful, truly.”

There was no need to say anything else.

I’d complimented her kingdom and was too hesitant to acknowledge the insult … or was I? Queen Gertrude and Prince Lambert, as imposing as they were, weren’t nearly as terrifying as Father.

“And, yes, I bear a similarity to my mother, but I think it’s always an honor to look like a strong woman, particularly one who doesn’t fit convention.”

Queen Gertrude’s face tightened even more.

Her eyes no longer seemed blue; they appeared gray, pigmented with shadowy hues, like clouds stirred up in a rainy sky.

It was never wise to anger your ally, but I had no regrets.

“We are happy to have you,”

Prince Lambert interjected quickly.

His smile was a touch too broad.

“I wish to offer our condolences over your sister, Princess Inessa, and thank you for taking on her … task.”

“I appreciate the condolences,”

I said.

It was still strange to speak of Inessa as dead, to hear condolences, to think of her in Bide.

“Her death was a shock.”

“It was,”

Prince Lambert agreed, his face troubled.

“Just as we were her allies, we are yours.

We will help you in any way you might require.”

He turned to Queen Gertrude.

“Won’t we, dove?”

She sighed and crossed her arms.

I paused, taking them both in.

Queen Gertrude didn’t deign to meet my gaze, but Prince Lambert sociably inclined his head toward me, trying to patch over his wife’s rudeness.

“I do have a question,”

I said.

“I understand Inessa died after eating a flower berry.

Where did she eat it?”

“Let me see … neither of us was present, but I believe she was taking a tour of our garden,”

Prince Lambert said.

“Do you know why she would eat a flower berry?”

After being raised in Radix in the clutches of our grave flowers, I couldn’t imagine either of us popping a flower berry into our mouths without reason.

“It’s part of the official tour of the royal garden,”

Prince Lambert explained.

“Everyone is given a flower berry to try.

No one has ever had an allergic reaction to it, so we were most shocked.”

Even though we were alone, he glanced around and lowered his voice.

“I can assure you we wondered if it was an assassination as well.

In fact, I ordered our own examination of her corpse, which was done in secret apart from the royal physician.

I worried that perhaps my nephew, Prince Aeric, had become suspicious.”

“Only he hadn’t.”

Queen Gertrude finally spoke, impatiently cutting off her husband as though he weren’t adequately explaining things.

“If he were suspicious, he’d launch a formal investigation.

Anyways, the examination of her corpse turned up nothing.

It was an accident.”

“I understand.”

I hesitated.

“If you might indulge me, who gave Inessa the flower berry?”

“Our head botanist.”

Queen Gertrude sighed, clearly annoyed.

“Annia.

She inherited the position from her grandmother forty-eight years ago.

The woman is not political and has no aspirations aside from seeds and sunshine.”

“Did you—did you see my sister die?”

The question came out more fearfully than I intended.

I didn’t like thinking about Inessa’s death, yet it was a scene I must re-create.

It was the second moment of demise to plague me.

Mother’s death had been the first.

“I did not.

I was praying at my family’s grave,”

Queen Gertrude said.

Only her hand moved.

It stroked her neck, where a thin gold pendant hung from an even thinner chain.

“Enough of this.

I’m going to retire.”

Frown lines sliced their way between her delicate brows.

She spoke to Prince Lambert.

“I’m rearranging my chambers again, so I might be late to supper.

I can’t seem to get them just right.”

I curtsied.

She didn’t bother to nod or dismiss me as she swept by.

The cool silk of her skirts rippled against the heavy wool of mine.

Unexpectedly, she said.

“Do better than your sister.”

The door slammed behind her, a loud exclamation that emphasized her order.

“She’s a bit fretful.”

Prince Lambert shuffled apologetically.

“We are both grateful you’ve come.”

“Praying at her family’s grave …”

I frowned.

“Does she mean her parents’ grave?”

“Indeed.”

Sorrow filled Prince Lambert’s eyes, but it was more than simply sorrow.

It was a haunting, the sort you get from sorrow that hasn’t been put to rest.

“But not only her parents—her entire family, including aunts, uncles, and her brothers.”

“Were they beset by catastrophe?”

“They were beset by my brother, King Claudius.

It happened early in their marriage.

Queen Gertrude hails from the House of Montario, originally.

They were wealthy nobles caught selling ecclesiastical offices to sway the faith.”

I nodded, but I wasn’t shocked.

Far from it.

In Radix, religious positions were bought and sold often, so much so that the rate for them was preposterously low.

You could become a monasticte of a high order for a few coins. Clearly, Acus treated it as a much more serious vocation.

“Queen Gertrude begged King Claudius for their lives, but they were executed, all of them.

They were buried in the little chapel just outside the palace grounds.

She visits often.”

“That’s awful,”

I said, trying to endear myself to Prince Lambert so he might endear me to Queen Gertrude.

Awful was an apt word for such punishment, but I knew Father would do the same—or more—if he sensed a house striving for power outside the crown.

“My brother was a severe man, and his severity led to cruelty, at least in my opinion.”

Prince Lambert shook his head.

“However, her family provides for her from the grave.

The Montario wealth—generations of it—was finally released to Queen Gertrude after years of litigation in the Court of Augmentation since there was no one alive to be granted male primogeniture.

Most thought their assets should be turned over to the treasurer, but King Claudius supported his wife’s petition to receive it.”

He sighed.

“Anyways, I shall take my leave of you as well.

But, as I said, do not hesitate to let us know if we can help.”

I nodded in gratitude.

Though I wouldn’t trust them unconditionally, Queen Gertrude and Prince Lambert seemed capable enough.

Servants descended, and I was taken upstairs to my chambers and introduced to my new attendants, who were girls around my age.

Apologies were made because a reshuffling of rooms had left me with the short stick.

Queen Gertrude had only recently moved to the dowager’s chambers, and Inessa had been given the queen’s quarters, which were still cordoned off after her death.

I made a mental note: As soon as possible, I’d try to see the queen’s quarters for myself. Inessa had dwelled there before her terrible death and descent into Bide. Perhaps there were clues, clues that might help me liberate her.

I recalled how miffed Queen Gertrude had been as she told Prince Lambert she was still rearranging her chambers.

Clearly, she hadn’t been happy to relinquish the queen’s quarters to Inessa, an action that truly cemented her as the dowager and likely had been initiated by Aeric moving into the king’s quarters.

Such a change made it undeniable that she was the past while Aeric was the future, and no one enjoyed having their power diluted.

Making admiring sounds, I surveyed the chambers.

Mine were intended for high-ranking guests rather than royalty, so they were more modest, with no guardroom at the entry, but they were much larger and more opulent than my chambers at home.

A total of three rooms were mine alone, each one feeding into the next.

The first one was a parlor with a seating area, which flowed into a dressing room with a copper tub and armoires bursting with clothing and accessories, then, finally, reached a bedroom with a frilly bed tucked into a niche in the wall.

Mirrors, their surfaces veined with gold and mercury, formed the walls of the niche while blush draperies hung from the corners.

In honor of my arrival, a marzipan masterpiece sat on a small table.

It had been molded into a floating castle.

Spun sugar clouds formed the base, and gold-painted marzipan was shaped into fairy-tale turrets and drawbridges.

“We hope you like your accommodations, Your Highness,”

said Decima, one of my new girls.

“It’s wonderful,”

I said, slowly taking another trip from the back to the front.

I smiled graciously, but my mind raced.

The keyhole at the main entrance was much too large.

Anyone could listen easily.

There were too many windows.

Row upon row of them. They marched across the walls along the south side, letting in the unrelenting sunlight. I could see out, which was fine, but others could see in, which was not fine. Even the balcony had a low rail and no trellises, allowing for a clear sight line from outside. Everything was so … open. Exposed. As though the palace wished to purify its secrets with light and sterilize every shameful thought into nonexistence. The light warmed my shoulder and dazzled my eyes. I wished to claw it off.

“Please,”

I said.

“draw the drapes.”

“Your Highness?”

Decima asked.

She glanced at the other girls, and they exchanged confused expressions.

“It’ll be too dark.”

“The candles can be lit.”

“In the middle of the day?”

Decima objected.

My heart sank.

I knew what I had to do.

It was a tactic I had seen Father and Inessa employ endlessly among advisors, nobles, servants, and even so-called friends: Instill fear and authority through a show of power … and then buy affection immediately thereafter.

I hated it, but I wasn’t na?ve. Almost everyone in Acus thought I was their future queen. If I hoped to solicit information from people about Inessa’s death, I must demonstrate that I was a figure worth helping, either from fear of punishment or hope of reward.

“Your name?”

I asked, even though I already knew it.

In fact, I’d memorized all their names the minute they introduced themselves and had been observing them as they interacted with each other, trying to determine who was the leader and who simply followed along, who might help me and who might harm me.

Growing up as a Sinet and ruling the ballroom at court made these observations as natural to me as eating or drinking.

Mundane functions, yet mundane in the way your heartbeat is: always operating, mostly unobserved, yet vitally necessary for survival.

“Decima, Your Highness.”

“You are dismissed, Decima.

I do not require your service any longer.”

Decima let out a little laugh, as though she thought I was joking.

“I apologize if I’ve offended you, Your Highness,” she said.

I was the startled one then.

In Radix, a servant would never scramble to save their position.

Once dismissed, they would wordlessly hurry out as quickly as they could, lest harsher consequences fall upon them for questioning the royal’s will.

“I accept your apology,”

I said.

I couldn’t help it.

She’d truly done nothing wrong.

However, I couldn’t retract my order.

“But you are dismissed.

Please leave.”

Decima glanced at the other ladies as though still unsure of what was happening.

They stared back and gathered close together like a flock of frightened birds.

I realized I was holding my breath.

What would I do if Decima didn’t obey? Back home, I traded on the currency of Father’s authority—but, I suddenly realized, I had none but my own here, and even I doubted its merit. Tension tightened around the room, constricting it to the distance between Decima and me, binding us together as neither moved. Then tears welled in Decima’s eyes. Relief swelled in me. I’d succeeded. She hurried from the chambers, sniffing into her sleeve. The door closed after her. I’d never heard a more glorious sound, even as guilt rose in my throat.

I turned to the other girls; and, as one, they shrank away.

“Please close the drapes,” I said.

They fanned into action.

The drapes were closed, pulling the shadows from the corners and spreading them through the chambers until its finery was cast in murkiness.

A few candles were lit, wavering against the gloom.

“Thank you.

I have two trunks,”

I said, pointing.

“I have a new wardrobe here, so I don’t need as much.

Once I’m ready for the party, you girls may take one of them and divide its contents among yourselves, though leave the perfume.

Its base is rain collected from the grave flower garden.

Any who wear it and aren’t from Radix get overtaken by sneezes.”

The nervous, frightened faces transformed with bright delight, as I’d anticipated.

The Sinet methodology worked.

Terrify but then endear.

Show strength but buy love. The girls clapped, taking little hops of excitement. Decima’s firing was already forgotten. I always marveled at how short people’s memories were, grievances falling under the wheel of time as it spun new events into place. I wished it worked that way for me. I couldn’t forget my hurts or those I’d hurt, no matter how hard I tried. I cleared my throat, and the girls went quiet, awaiting my orders.

“Now please help me prepare for the party.”

My Radixan dress was removed, and I ordered them to hang it in the armoire.

I would leave the dress hanging there until I needed it.

Or, rather, until I needed the vial sewn into its seams.

In short order, I was bathed.

Amber-colored blobs of fancy oils floated across the surface of the hot water.

By the end, my skin might as well have been regrown.

It was flushed newborn pink and was so soft that it felt like it might slip off my body. My scar had been enflamed ever since Inessa touched it, but after the bath, it itched and burned even more. I ignored it, opening the armoire to select a dress in which to meet Aeric and the rest of the court.

The doors creaked open.

Fresh cedar, sage laundering soap, and the sweet scent of silk enveloped me.

Then I saw it, and my heart careened to a stop.

Red scrollwork.

Gauzy fabric.

Thin gasps of straps.

It was the red dress Inessa had worn while appearing to me in the garden.

The heat rising from my skin after the scalding bath fled, leaving me icy with fear.

The gown was limp on a hanger, yet it somehow seemed inflated, like a burial shroud or a strung-up body or a ghost fastened in place by hooks.

“Would you like the red dress, Your Highness?”

I heard the question from afar.

“It would look lovely on you.”

“Oh yes,”

the other girls chimed in.

“Just lovely.”

I pushed the dress away under the pretense of perusing the other options.

I tried to bury it under the layers of chiffon, tulle, and silk, but the more I tried, the more it resurfaced, like a creature refusing to drown.

Finally, desperately, I grabbed one of the dresses without thought and drew the armoire doors closed.

“Stunning!”

Sindony, one of the girls, cooed.

“A gown for a true Acusan princess.”

The dress I’d hastily chosen settled over me in a crimson cloud.

I stared at myself in the mirror.

I’d known it would be revealing, but I hadn’t prepared for how it would feel to be so exposed.

The skirt was full, but the bust was cut so low, it stopped just above the navel. Gold lace, embroidered with tiny sparkling gems, encased the bust cups. Strips of boning lined the bodice, and sheer fabric webbed over it, showing my stomach.

All my life, I’d hidden.

From Father, from Inessa … from life, tucking myself away in the garden.

I became rigid within the fabric, my bones fighting against the strange garment that offered no warmth or coverage but rather divulgence.

No longer could I afford to hide, and the dress made me face it.

“May I do your hair, Your Highness?”

Sindony asked.

I allowed her to guide me to a chair at the vanity.

She picked up several hairpins tipped in red rubies.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen such dark hair up close,”

she mused, winding my locks up.

I could understand.

Acusan hair, bleached by the sun, tended to be blond or light brown.

“My mother was Fely,” I said.

“Oh, like the Brugens!”

she said brightly, referencing another small population that was much more widespread than Felys and scattered in pockets across the kingdoms.

Rigby had been a Brugen from Pingere.

Father overlooked that due to his tremendous skill as a dance master.

He was the only Brugen I’d personally known, but I forgot it the first moment he struck my shoulder. After that, I’d only seen him in terms of dance steps and ducking around his stick.

“Not Brugen,”

I corrected. “Fely.”

“Certainly,”

she replied without any note of certainty in her voice.

I turned back to the mirror and met my own gaze in the reflection, considering myself through an outsider’s eyes for the first time.

To me, Brugens and Felys were as different as lost souls and moonmirrors.

Both grave flowers but not the same.

Because I was the princess of Radix, few dared to comment on my appearance, and if they did, it was only to praise it.

But now I evaluated my looks anew, wondering how Sindony and everyone else in Acus might see me.

Fely features were distinct: flat cheekbones set high in a round face, flatter noses in alignment with the cheekbones, dark hair that reflected light like silk but slipped free from any pins.

Radixan features were distinct as well: papery skin with blue veins, thinly pointed features reminiscent of rodents, pale gray or blue eyes from lack of sun exposure. Mother lived from beyond the grave in my face, where her Fely countenance mixed with Father’s Radixan one, the two existing in silent accord.

Meeting Sindony’s gaze in the mirror, I almost began to tell her about the Felys, but I caught myself.

It would be lost on her, and for all I knew, she might share Queen Gertrude’s sentiments.

I remained silent as she twisted my hair into a passable style and fixed it in place with an embroidered velvet headband.

I adjusted it.

“The party isn’t for another hour,”

Sindony said.

“Would you like music while you wait? A harpist or a lute player, perhaps? Someone to read poetry or tell jokes?”

“I think I’ll rest in solitude,”

I said.

“You girls may go and take the trunk.

Come back at the party hour.”

The girls hardly contained their glee while curtsying.

Delightedly chattering, they descended on the heavy trunk and carried it off together like a brigade of ants with a hunk of bread twice their size.

I watched with amusement and a bit of curiosity.

They were giggly, young, and unversed in politics. Not one had batted an eye at my sudden switch from severity in firing Decima to kindness in offering them the trunk. They reeked of Acus. Of girls raised in safety and fresh air.

Once the door closed, I let out a sharp, panicked breath.

I went into the room with the bathtub and twisted the knob connected to the faucet, just a bit.

Beads of water struck the copper tub in a pattering succession.

Water always dripped somewhere in the Radix palace, whether it was from pipes in the walls, cracks in the ceiling, or cornices jutting out around the windows. It was the palace’s blood, running weak and clear. Even with the water dripping into the tub, I couldn’t find ease. Light radiated from the candles. I blew out all but the one in the very farthest room. Dimness grew, the deep pockets of the rooms thickening in bands.

Abruptly, I sat on the chair where Sindony had done my hair.

Even with the dripping water, drawn shades, and the single candle, I was unnerved.

Radix had formed me to itself.

It had taken things like sunshine and dresses not predicated on hiding weapons and turned them into threats. I missed Radix. I missed the salt, the decay—even its unpredictability and chaos.

I had to stay strong enough for only a month.

Then I could go home.