Page 16 of Grave Flowers
“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 thestrange 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.
