Page 7 of Grave Flowers

While the party started at the eighth night hour, I didn’t leave my quarters with my girls until the ninth hour, at my demand.

I was entering a foreign court.

I wished to prove I moved according to my own timeline while simultaneously making a dramatic appearance.

The ballroom had a main entrance for the guests and another exclusively for the royals, which was accessed by an interior balcony and had a set of stairs descending to the dance floor.

I paused, staring down into the party.

Overwhelm beset me.

The ballroom was huge.

Fabric panels covered the walls in shimmering watery silk.

Life-size glass figurines of dancers were suspended on ribbons from the ceiling. They were attired in translucent gowns colored by soft golds, the hand-cut edges so thin that they seemed to disappear.

Hundreds of people filled the ballroom.

The party was at a fever pitch.

Raucous laughter reverberated off the walls.

Every hand clutched a goblet of bright red wine, and couples danced either too fast or too slow for the music, though no one seemed to care.

Two chairs sat on a raised dais against the wall.

One chair was for Aeric, and the other was for me.

Both were empty.

“His Royal Highness.

Where is he?”

I asked Sindony.

She peered over my shoulder into the party and pointed.

“Where those people are gathered.”

My eyes widened.

Aeric, my soon-to-be betrothed and the reigning monarch of Minima’s most prosperous kingdom, looked like a wine-soaked cad.

Not only did he hold a nearly drained goblet in one hand, but he clutched an entire bottle of wine in the other.

It was also almost empty, indicated by his dramatic devastation as he tried to pour it directly into his mouth, bypassing the goblet altogether. His sleeveless shirt was untucked … and unbuttoned. It flapped open around him, revealing his torso. And, by the Family, what was that on his chest, beneath his pendant? A word was scrawled across it. I squinted and nearly gasped.

King.

It was written across Aeric’s chest in the way a title is written across a book.

Never in my life had I anticipated such a thing.

Half a dozen partiers gathered around him, goading him on and cheering and raising their goblets alongside him.

Confusion filled me, quickly followed by revulsion.

Aeric didn’t bother to pretend at distress over Inessa’s death, which proved how little he thought of her and our country.

Enemies surrounded him, first among them his own mother and uncle.

His father had died under suspicious circumstances. He was on the cusp of being formally coronated—and here he was, drunk. The only thing to indicate he was the ruling monarch was the word smeared on his chest.

Shaking my head, I relieved my girls and stepped farther out onto the balcony.

A royal announcer leaned against the railing, watching the merriment.

When he saw me, he quickly straightened and pounded his rod on the floor.

The party was much too loud, and no one heard him over the music and frivolity. I didn’t wait for a second attempt.

I made my way to the stairs, centered myself on the top one, and stopped.

A few guests close to the staircase noticed me.

They nudged each other and pointed.

It was all I needed. News of my arrival spread across the ballroom in a wave. Faces upturned until everyone stared as though I were a comet streaking across the sky. The news, carried on whispers and gasps, reached Aeric and his group. A few young men shouldered each other and nodded toward me. One elbowed him in the ribs to get his attention and pointed. He laughed and tried to push his companion off.

Then Aeric saw me.

During my observation, he’d been stumbling about, laughter spilling from him every few seconds.

The minute his gaze landed on me, he stilled, eyes widening like a deer spotting the archer about to slay it.

I didn’t understand the surprise.

It passed so quickly, I wondered if I’d imagined it. A lazy grin spread across his lips. He said something to those closest to him, and they doubled over, trying to suppress their laughter. With great focus, he composed himself and handed his goblet and wine bottle to his friends. He sauntered over to the bottom of the stairs as though he had all the time in the world. Then he stopped, waiting for me to descend. I gave a slight nod to the royal announcer.

“We are graced by Her Royal Highness, the princess of Radix, Madalina Tachibana Sinet, our future queen consort of Acus,”

the announcer thundered.

I stepped onto the first stair.

Given how wide my skirt was, I should’ve used the rail, but I didn’t, willing myself to make it down without so much as a waver.

Inessa would never use the rail, refusing to show even an inkling of need for support, even on stairs.

By Family fortune, my training in dance kept me steady, my inner balance strong enough to counter the impediment of the skirt.

Everyone stared—which I was used to.

In Radix, I was the axis of every court party.

But here … I didn’t know what I was.

I didn’t know who the eyes belonged to or the thoughts passing through the minds behind them. I didn’t know anything, not even what the wine would taste like or what the dances were, yet I was supposed to avenge Inessa and murder Aeric. Panic filled me. I tried to force it away, but it wouldn’t let me go.

I wished to look anywhere but at Aeric.

I attempted to focus on the empty space above the crowd.

I missed a step.

My heart jumped as I floundered. My gaze wavered and dropped, latching on to Aeric’s eyes with the intractability of a lock once it’s been clicked into place by its key. The smile remained on his lips. Annoyance strengthened me and helped me regain my stability. I didn’t smile back, but I didn’t dare look elsewhere. If I did, I would stumble again. He had become the equilibrium for my descent, even as my loathing for him grew with each step.

Once I reached the floor, Aeric bowed, then simply said.

“Your Highness.”

“A pleasure,”

I said, curtsying.

I needed to be strong, but it seemed the walk down the stairs had drained me, as though I were a leaking vessel through which strength only passed through and did not fully dwell within.

I did not trust myself to meet his gaze, but that left me looking at his lips.

Embarrassment surged through me, and I dropped my line of sight but found myself staring at his chest, King at my eye level. Horror replaced the embarrassment, and I lowered my gaze once more—which then put his midsection into my view. My face flushed pink as though I’d been the one drinking wine, not him.

“The pleasure is mine,”

he said.

His voice was so formal, it drew my attention back to his face.

“Would you care to dance?”

“I’m not so sure you’re in any state to be spinning around,”

I said, trying to regain my dignity.

Most rulers would be insulted at my breach of etiquette, but he laughed.

I stared, unsure of how to respond.

He wasn’t laughing at me—he was laughing at my comment—but it unnerved me more than if he’d drawn a blade.

“A fair point, Your Highness,”

he said, balancing himself with effort.

“A glass of wine, perhaps?”

“Is there any left? I think you’ve drunk it all.”

At that, the laughter spread.

The guests weren’t afraid of laughing at Aeric’s expense.

Clearly, he had no control over his court.

“Well, then,”

he said, once the mirth subsided.

“you don’t wish to dance, and you don’t wish to drink … what would you like to do?”

Without a word, I moved past him.

The crowd parted before me, amusement flashing in their eyes.

Cold air wafted around my exposed neck and chest, and I longed for my old dresses.

My hands wished to pull my hair down over my shoulders and my arms wished to curl about myself. I was lost within my own body, a bizarre sensation after years of endless dance lessons had made it mine to command. I reached the dais where the two chairs were and ascended. I turned to face the guests and sank onto the cushion of the left-hand chair.

“Sit,”

I said to Aeric.

“I wish to sit.”

There was another moment of keen silence, one so sharp that it could cut.

No one appeared particularly upset, but the moment was fraught with more than mere enthrallment.

An uneasy curiosity gave it weight.

Some of the guests nudged each other and leaned over to whisper behind their hands. Gazes flickered from me to Aeric and back again. The court was judging, evaluating, assessing—all things the king should be doing. But the current reigning monarch, Aeric, was simply smiling, his grin somehow growing even lazier.

“You’ve traveled far, Your Highness.

Sit as much as you like.”

He turned away, as though my installation in the chair had completed his responsibilities to me for the night.

He gestured to the crowd.

“But, for the rest of you miscreants, I command you to dance and drink until dawn.

If you don’t, it’s off with your heads! Horatio, my goblet and my bottle are empty! Rectify it, my friend.”

Rowdy cheers broke out, and the crowd converged around Aeric.

Horatio grabbed Aeric’s neck and playfully pulled his head back to pour more wine down his throat while the others clapped and laughed.

Music swelled, and the party burst back to life, guests throwing their arms around each other to dance and embrace and kiss.

The entire ballroom swayed, as though it, too, were as drunk as Aeric. Even the walls seemed to lean in and then out, the mirrors giving the party’s movements back to itself. The glass figurines shivered and swung as the ballroom reverberated with the thunderous footsteps. It reminded me of water being pushed from one end of a tub to the other so that it sloshed up against the rim but somehow never tipped over the edge.

I tried to ignore Aeric and analyze who knew whom, but as the hours progressed, wine made friends of everyone.

It was tremendously different than Radixan court parties, where groups were clear and no one drank to excess for fear their wits would be dulled.

Here, arms slipped about each other, lips met, shoes and slippers stumbled and scuffed across the marble.

It truly seemed like a party, one where there was no aim other than to have fun. I was perplexed by the meaninglessness.

Soon, I found myself tracking Aeric’s sloppy movements across the ballroom.

Not once did he seek out my gaze or even glance in my direction.

Instead of me ignoring him, he was ignoring me.

No, not ignoring me. He’d forgotten all about me.

The entire party had.

I had to reassert myself.

Father would never let himself be pushed to the side, especially at a foreign court.

Except Father demanded control by brutality.

Once, at age five, I’d sat next to Inessa at a banquet.

We giggled together, oblivious to the world happening above our heads, the one filled with plots, power, and perdition.

All I knew was that in one moment, Inessa was making me laugh by mimicking Orios’s meow, and then the next moment, we were doused in cold fluid. A tart smell filled my nose, and drops of tangy, bubbly liquid sizzled on my tongue. A bottle of sparkling sour wine had shattered. Candlesticks, goblets, plates, and forks were knocked off the table. In their place was a man splayed atop the platter of halibut. Father stood on the table and calmly sank so his knees were on either side of the victim. He looped a cord around the man’s neck and pulled it tight. The man bucked and struggled, his face turning red. The more time passed, the less human he seemed. His features disappeared into desperate folds, and his hands clawed aimlessly at the empty air. I clung to Inessa. She let me, wrapping her arms around me, and then, as the moments passed and the man remained alive, covering my eyes with her hand.

Finally, mercifully, silence fell.

I pulled back.

The man was limp on the table.

Exertion exuded from Father. His chest heaved, and perspiration poured down the sides of his face. Methodically, he unwound the cord and tucked it into his pocket, then cupped the man’s face in his hands. Sweat dripped from his forehead onto the man’s cheeks like tears. Father took a deep breath, as though inhaling the man, as though trying to remember every moment, as though saying goodbye.

“May you swim in salt,”

he whispered.

I jolted back into myself, but the memory had already done its damage.

It hung from me like clothes sopping wet with icy sea water, the fabric gritty with sand.

My hands grasped the arms of the chair.

I glanced around, hoping no one noticed.

Only one person met my gaze.

It was a young man, and he glanced behind himself as though thinking I was looking at someone else.

When he realized it was indeed him, he approached.

“Are you well, Your Highness?”

he asked.

“Do you need anything?”

His shoulders slouched forward slightly as though he were leaning over to inspect something interesting.

Despite his loose posture, his attire was striking.

It was black, fitted closely to his lanky frame, with lace trim at the neck and sleeves, which ended at the armpit, revealing his arms.

In the corner of either eye was a tiny teardrop inked beneath his skin. One teardrop was oriented up, and the other was oriented down. He wore gloves also trimmed in lace. I’d never seen someone have bare arms and covered hands. The only deviation from the color scheme was a gold pin fixed to his collar. It depicted a laughing face with weeping eyes. I knew what he was from the teardrops and the pin: a jester. Every court had them, including ours. Only our jester was so terrified of getting on Father’s bad side that all his jokes were simply outrageous compliments about Father’s attractiveness, beneficence, and wisdom.

“I am,”

I said.

I made myself smile in a way that I hoped seemed genuine.

Jesters could be powerful.

They oftentimes doubled as advisors, observing court closely for fodder from which they crafted their witticisms.

“And your name is?”

“Yorick, Your Highness.”

“Tell me, Yorick, are the parties always this … lively?”

“I’m afraid so,”

he said.

“Ever since Prince Aeric returned to court, there have been parties instead of councils.

Makes it quite hard if you prefer the company of books to people.

I always can’t wait until these things are over and I’m in bed with a book and a piece of toast.”

“I must admit, there’s nothing like taking off my slippers after a night of dancing.

I’d planned to dance tonight, but I’m not certain I wish to dance with His Royal Highness.”

I spoke carefully, watching Yorick closely to see if he was offended at my insult of his monarch.

However, he nodded enthusiastically, as though entirely in agreement.

“Prince Aeric is never far from a wine bottle.

Which is bold.

I could never because I don’t want wine face when I’m older.

I’m too vain. If you’d like to dance, Your Highness, you can dance with me.”

“Can I?”

I took Yorick in sharply.

His eyes glittered between his lids, which were powdered black.

He could be trying to get me to embarrass myself, to make Aeric jealous, or to advance some other private agenda I didn’t know.

But if I were dancing, Aeric couldn’t forget about me, and neither could anyone else. It would be a strong message to dance with someone other than my intended on my first night here, the perfect follow-up to firing Decima. I glanced across the party, trying to see where Aeric was. I spotted him quickly, as though now that I knew which face was his, my eyes could find no other. He was dancing—with four other young men. All five of them lurched side to side, terribly out of beat, in the sort of way I’d seen young men do after a successful hunt or wrestling match.

“Aren’t you worried you might offend the prince?”

“Not at all.”

An amused smile played at Yorick’s lips, as though he found something funny.

“Not at all?”

“Prince Aeric would be jealous only if I were attracted to you.”

“You aren’t?”

I was taken aback.

“I think I look particularly ravishing tonight.”

“Oh, you are.

I can’t deny it any more than I could deny the beauty of the stars.

But men, women, romance … that’s not what interests me right now.

I’m the safest person you could dance with tonight. You might as well be dancing with no one.”

I weighed his words.

Most men looked at me like a meal to devour, their wet lips seeking to trail along my neck and their fumbling fingers struggling to find my corset strings.

I was as practiced at drawing out their desires as I was at spinning into a dip at the end of a dance.

But there was no hunger in Yorick’s stare. He regarded me as a brother might. It was refreshing to be seen as another human, nothing more and nothing less.

“Very well.”

Before I could lose my nerve, I rose and descended the dais.

Yorick followed.

I refused to weave my way through the room and followed a straight line to the dancing, clearing my throat whenever a drunken guest didn’t move until we reached the dance floor.

Couples whirled.

Each one did their own type of dance, some going half time to the music, some going double.

Even the glass figurine dancers overhead spun at different speeds.

I snuck one last look at Aeric. He was still surrounded by his friends. The King was even more visible as he cast his head back to laugh, shoulders arching and chest widening with breath. Determinedly, I held out a hand to Yorick. He took it. The lace on his gloves tickled my palm. He swept in front of me and pulled me out into the fray. For a moment, everything was blurry. The skirts of other women flapped against mine and tugged me along in a current of silk, taffeta, and chiffon. Shoulders brushed me, and voices rang out in apology, a few of which sounded annoyed and not in any way remorseful.

I closed my eyes and thought of one of the places I hated most of all.

The ballroom back home.

I saw it at half-light, torn between thoughts of my excruciating dance lessons with Rigby and my nights spent dancing until the early morning with different men.

My feet were often afire as infected blisters rubbed against the sides of my slippers.

Those same feet, though, also glided across the marble as if gravity didn’t exist and I might fly away if I spun fast enough.

The two memories fed into each other, the first full of pain and the second full of power. I let it build until they swelled over me.

Then I let them take me away.

I chose a dance that paired with the music and highlighted only one partner: me.

Different parts featured me circling this way or dipping another, separate from Yorick, who congenially followed along.

My huge skirts spread out like red tongues of flame.

As I spun, pins flew loose from Sindony’s hopeless attempts at a bun. My hair spilled across my shoulders and down my back. I went faster and faster, and I didn’t miss a step. Every note trilling through the ballroom was mine to snatch and use in a way no one else could. I took each one and contoured them to my body so there was no distinction between my movements and the music. The other couples slowed and stopped and then retreated to the edge of the dance floor until only I, Yorick, and the glass figurines danced.

No one ignored me now.

No one would, not after this.

Tomorrow, everyone would be talking about the Radixan princess, and it was just what I wanted.

From behind me, a hand caught my wrist.

Yorick?

No, he was wearing gloves—

My heart leaped in a scintillating moment of triumph.

Was it Aeric? Had I bewitched him enough to come dance with me and catch my hand?

I spun to him.

But I wasn’t dancing with Aeric.

I was dancing with Inessa, who wore the same gauzy red dress as before.

She dragged me to her.

Thick sludge poured from her eyes.

I let out a cry and yanked my wrist away. Everyone murmured but they weren’t alarmed.

They didn’t see her.

Only I did.

Inessa grabbed me with both hands and cruelly dipped me, nearly bending me in half.

Pain shot up my spine.

She jerked me upright.

My scar was alive, shooting spikes of agony into my wrist. Snippets of the guests’ murmurs reached me.

“The new princess is quite flexible!”

“How did she dip so far?”

“Flower magic! It must be!”

Everything was spiraling.

I stepped away from Inessa.

She came at me again, face twisting beneath the black muck.

I had to get away before I started screaming in terror. I turned and pushed through the crowd, fleeing. Picking up my skirts, I ran back up the stairs I’d so grandly descended. I didn’t dare stop.

Inessa came behind me.

I knew without looking; I could feel her, my nerves flashing and blinking beneath my skin in anticipation of someone catching me.

Servants milled about as I ran through the hallways.

They stared at me in confusion, unaware of my pursuer. The doors to my chambers appeared. I burst through them, my fingers shaking so badly, I could hardly turn the lock.

All the candles were lit, even though my girls had blown them out when we left.

With a suppressed whimper, I looked at my scar.

Pink streaks unfurled across it, reaching farther across my skin, while the scar itself turned softer and spongy in a way dead tissue shouldn’t.

Impulsively, I thrust my hand behind my back, as though it might somehow separate from myself.

Then I waited.

Doors and locks wouldn’t keep her out.

I knew it.

Sure enough, her hand came through the door.

It caught on the wood, but it didn’t stop her from reaching forward.

Flesh stripped back from her arm like a rind peeling from a vegetable.

I stared in horror at the layers of stringy veins, the shredded muscles, and, at the core of the layers, the flash of white bone. The scar from our birth snagged on the frame and stretched more and more, until it snapped back into place. Every one of Inessa’s fingers strained and pointed, grasping and clawing. Another hand joined it, and then, with a sudden surge, she burst through the door.

“Inessa?”

I whimpered.

She sank to the ground and then moved forward on all fours.

Her head twisted side to side.

A half hissing, half growling came from her throat.

“Inessa!”

At the second utterance of her name, she blinked.

Black fluid spun around her eyeballs, crossing her pupils and dripping over her eyelids.

She blinked again and her eyes cleared.

Slowly, she straightened.

“I’m”—she looked around at my chambers and then focused on me—“starving.”

“You can’t just appear whenever you want!”

I cried.

“Don’t you want me to avenge you? You’ll have me locked away if you scare me in front of everyone.

No one else can see you.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

Spotting the floor-length mirror in the dressing chamber, she crossed to it and gasped, horrified by her appearance.

Then a slow smile crossed her face, and she dipped her fingers into the black liquid, arranging it so it highlighted her lids and lips.

I followed her.

“I simply am in Bide and, without warning, find myself here.

I have no control.

Trust me, if I did, I wouldn’t travel all the way from the other side to be your dance partner.

Now, how are you getting on? Have you learned anything about who might’ve killed me?”

“I only just arrived,”

I said defensively.

“But I must interrogate the head botanist and try to gain access to your chambers.

Have you remembered anything new?”

“Head botanist?”

Inessa asked, pausing as she fussed with her hair.

Some of it hung limply over her shoulders and the rest was coiled around the top of her head.

Pebbly whitish clumps clung to her strands.

She frowned.

“Too much light.”

Annoyed, she blew out the nearest candle.

“Yes, Annia,”

I said.

“I’m not certain she poisoned you, but I figure I should see who had access to the flower berry before you ate it.

I will visit the garden after the betrothal service tomorrow.”

“Ah, yes, the betrothal service.

I think you’ll enjoy it.

Mine was delightful,”

Inessa said.

Smoke from the candle twirled around her.

“They say twins are one human living the same life twice.

I’ve never believed it until now.”

I didn’t think it was fully true.

We weren’t living the same life.

Inessa had lived her life, and now mine was the water seeping into the footsteps she’d left behind.

I came after her, crossing ground she’d already traveled. A chill gripped me. What if death awaited me, just as it had awaited her?

“It’s the same service we have in Radix,”

she continued.

“but it’s funny how everything feels different in Acus.”

“The service matters not to me.”

I blew out a candle as well with a heavy, strangled breath.

A sweet hint of beeswax rose with the acrid smoke.

“I know you were supposed to murder Aeric.

Father has me after the same end.”

“I wondered as much.”

Inessa considered me.

Her eyes were particularly ghoulish in their black circles, the white smoke making her image ripple.

“Do you think you’ll be able to do it? Murder and you don’t get along, Sister.”

“It’s different,”

I insisted, knowing she was thinking of Mother, just as Father had.

“I have no lust for blood and no taste for power, but I’ll do what I need to do.”

“No, but you do have a taste for life, my sister,”

Inessa said.

She crossed her arms, fingers tapping thoughtfully.

Fierceness rose on her face, like a sea serpent ascending from the depths to flash its coils across the watery surface.

“Perhaps that’s why you’ll outlast us all.

Father, Mother, even the royals here.

In longing for something outside of a crown, you’ll find yourself wearing it.”

It was unclear if Inessa was complimenting me or simply observing something she thought to be true.

It was always difficult to know her true thoughts.

I’d seen flashes of her affection and protectiveness for me, but she was that way with anything belonging to her—and she certainly thought I, and my service, did.

She cleared her throat, then said.

“Anyways, I’m starving.”

“There’s the marzipan castle,”

I said.

“Though it’s much too sweet.”

“Oh, I’m not starving for that.

Ever since being in Bide, hunger eats me from the inside out.

But it isn’t hunger for your silly human food.

I long to eat … ice.

Dirt.

Rocks.

Glass. Do you mind?”

She picked up a handheld mirror set in fine Crusan silver.

“Mind what?”

She smiled.

The edges of her mouth were unnaturally wide, as though Bide and its horrors had reordered her features, stretching each angle just a bit farther.

I shuddered.

My scar throbbed. I put my good hand over it. Moist skin gave way beneath my fingers, and a clear liquid secreted from the tissue. Now that my sister was dead, the scar was conversely alive. It throbbed even more as she brought the mirror to her mouth. She bit. I stifled an alarmed cry. Splinters fractured across the mirror, and the tinkle of breaking glass accompanied them. Shards caught in her mouth, but she crunched down, hard teeth on sharp glass, soft lips on lethal edges, writhing tongue on silvery metal. The black liquid around her eyes gushed from her gums and mouth. It poured down her chin. This time it was as runny and thin and clear as water.

The smile on her lips grew wider, until it stretched nearly ear to ear.

Glass shards, black liquid, and silver frame glinted in her mouth.

When she spoke, and I could see the back of her throat vibrating with speech, a cave of silvery terrors framed by swollen lips.

“I remember, Mads—I had to tell you—”

“What?”

I stepped forward, desperate for anything that might help me save her from these unnatural horrors.

“What do you remember?”

But my words fell into emptiness.

She was gone, entirely.

Only the mirror remained on the floor where she had been.

Its frame was indented with bite marks, a large chunk was torn away, and shattered glass flashed beneath it.

Blood welled around my scar.

Something bulged from inside.

Terrified, I touched it.

It hurt so horribly that I thought I’d vomit.

The scar was softer than ever before, but there was a hard object under the skin. I pressed, not sure if I was whimpering more from fear or pain. Blood dripped down my wrist. The object wrested free with a strange ripping sound. It struck the floor with a clunk. Weakly, I picked it up to see what had come from within me. I wiped off the blood and held it close to one of the candles.

A single shard of broken mirror glass flashed between my fingers.