Page 76 of House of Roots and Ruin
I glanced down at my bespoke finery. “And where exactly would I have stored it?”
“Oh…you know,” he said, releasing one of the oars to gesture toward the skirt. “That thing is absolutely enormous. There must be a pocket somewhere.”
Our laughter mingled in the bright morning light.
“It seems a shame,” I murmured, pointing to the bustling activity across the lawn. Footmen now hung scalloped floral bowers and ribboned pennants.
“What do you mean?”
“The sky was so red this morning. Can’t you feel the storm coming?” Toward the west, a pile of dark blue clouds gathered, massing together.
“Bad weather would never dare to thwart any plans of Dauphine Laurent,” Alex said, but I did notice he gave the clouds a second glance, chewing his lip thoughtfully.
“I hadn’t realized the lake was so vast,” I said, filling thesilence as he rowed. “Is it fed by a spring? It doesn’t look as though any streams run into it.”
“You’ve a sharp eye. It’s actually stagnant, man-made. There used to be a lake farther up along the northern ridge of the estate but my great-grandfather had it diverted…after some adjustments to the landscape here.”
“He moved an entire lake?” It was incomprehensible to me. “Why?”
Again, he smiled. “You’ll see…Look!” he exclaimed, pointing behind me.
Arina’s statue, the giant hand pointing into the fiery heart, rose out of the water like a breaching whale. It was made of pale gray stone, with veins of gold snaking through it, giving the flames a realistic flicker.
“The shrine,” I said in wonder. The statue loomed over us but yards away, I saw a small slip of land, resting so low to the water, I’d not noticed it before. “It’s an island!”
Marble bouquets of flowers stood watch at each corner of the platform. Their stony ribbons trailed down and across the border, creating a whimsical railing.
“This is the shrine?” I asked as I squinted at the little slab. Frederick stood at the dock, already waiting for us. This had been an expertly planned operation.
Alex drew the rowboat along the back side of the island, throwing a line of rope to Frederick, who tied it off before holding out his hand to help pull me from the dinghy.
I wandered about the platform as Frederick helped Alexander from the boat. Large circles of green glass were curiously pressed into the pale tiles. There were ten altogether, dotting the islandlike confetti, and I wondered what importance they had for the People of the Petals.
I leaned out over one of the ribbon railings as far as I dared. Through the dark green water, I spotted the faint curved lines of the structure that held Arina’s burning heart in place.
“How deep is the lake?”
“Quite. Are you wanting to go for a swim?” Alex asked, smiling mischievously. He was standing upright, leaning heavily against Frederick, no wheelchair in sight. I’d never given thought to how tall he would be without the chair, but he loomed over me, even propped at such an awkward angle.
“If you throw me in, your mother will never forgive you.”
“I wouldn’t dare!”
“I was only wondering why the statue was built so far off the island? Surely it would have been easier to use this as a base?”
“Come, I want to show you something.”
With impressive effort, Frederick picked him up and ferried Alex over to where a staircase spiraled down into an area beneath the island.
“What is that?” I asked. It was too dark to make anything out.
Alex laughed. “So many questions! I promise, I will show you everything. Unfortunately, this is one of the few places at Chauntilalie without a lift or ramp, though Father does keep a chair here for me. And thankfully, we have Frederick.”
He went first, carrying Alex down the narrow, metal steps. After a last look around the platform, I followed after them. Reaching the bottom, I was amazed to see a large secret room open up. Skylights were used to brighten the space—the same ten large circles I’d noticed earlier.
“How ingenious!” I murmured, looking up through the windows.
Potted palms were placed about with care, trying to camouflage bulky support columns. In the center of the room was a gaming table. Four tufted wingback chairs nestled around it, ready for an evening of cards. Paintings of horse hunts and moody florals hung framed on a gallery wall. In the far corner was a mahogany bar, stocked with dozens of glass bottles and decanters. Cigar smoke lingered in the air, giving the room a decidedly masculine feel.
