Page 44 of Grave Flowers
Then he said nobly, “As you command, Princess.”
“Thank you.” Relief made me sound excited, and I didn’t mind. This was even better than my original plan. Aeric had seen me now and would see me later tonight. He would never suspect I was going to confront a spy in the slim space of time between. “I think you’ll prefer my company to the guardians.”
“You are certainly lovely, though just as fierce,” Aeric said. “I’ll fetch another bottle.”
Despite our newly confirmed plan, neither of us took the first step away. Suddenly, I asked, “Why can’t you sleep?”
Aeric fidgeted. He said, “Weak wine. Usually, it’s the perfect somnolent. I’ll make certain to get us something stronger from the cellar.”
I nodded and briskly walked up the steps. Aeric did as well, just behind me. We stopped again at the entrance to the palace.
“I’ll see you shortly,” he said.
“I look forward to it,” I replied, making myself sound cheery. I headed down the hall in the direction of my chambers. At the end, I stopped and turned. Aeric was out of sight. I knew the wine cellar would be in the abdomen of the palace, far underground, where the conditions kept the wine cool and sheltered in humidity. Thankfully, Aeric had decided to get it himself instead of rousing a servant. It would take him a while to fetch it and make his way to the balcony on the second floor.
Which was just what I needed.
Desperately, I dashed back out. I fled down the stairs, passing the oblong stain of wine and glass. My mind raced. Had I bought enough time? The pleasantness of the night was gone. The scent of flowers and menthol was too heady, and the moon was too bright. I ran parallel to the garden wall, which was stone for a good length before turning into iron fencing. Yorick stood close to the fence, nervously gnawing on the fingertip of his glove.
“You’re here,” I said breathlessly.
“I am,” he agreed. “What exactly are we doing?”
I’d planned to ease Yorick into tonight’s plans. To lay out exactly what was happening and why and draw him in slowly so he might acclimate to each horror bit by bit. I realized there was no time. I’d have to tell him outright and hope he was strong enough of spirit—and stomach—for what might come.
“There’s a spy, most likely from Radix,” I said, speaking in a rush. “I think he’ll come to the garden tonight. If he does, he might attack me, and I’ll need to—to—”
“Need to what?”
“Kill him,” I blurted.
Yorick sucked in his breath. I understood why. He was a jester and, before that, a stable hand turned attendant. Politics and power plays didn’t populate his world in the way they did mine. I tried to speak commandingly in the way Father or Inessa would. “No one will know. I assure you. And if you help me, I’ll certainly be grateful and will always consider you my closest ally. Remember, I’ll be queen in less than a month.”
“Your plan is to kill someone?”
“No. Yes. Possibly.” Yorick was silent. I abandoned my guise of power and spoke from the heart. “In helping me, you’ll lift no finger against Acus. The spy comes from my own kingdom. There’s a chance he killed Inessa, Yorick. She was my sister. I must make it right. I must.”
Yorick lifted his head, and the doubt was gone. Resolve and conviction emanated from him, so strongly that I could read it on his face despite the darkness. “I understand. What do you need me to do?”
With a strained laugh, I said, “You’ll be hidden while I stand out in the open. Make certain he doesn’t kill me, please.”
The Acusan flowers slept. Their buds were tightly closed, and even in sleep, they were upright. But not the young, weak starvelings. In Radix, they’d slumber, but here they couldn’t find any rest. They tormented the nearby sleeping red flowers, ripping at them while crankily muttering. Several red petals lay on the grass.
I stood in front of the starvelings. Yorick was obscured behind the nearby statuary. I was relieved he was here. If Luthien was an assassin, he would be a lethal opponent, and it might take two of us to subdue him. The added stress of limited time made my head spin. I felt like I was splitting apart from the pressure, torn in a myriad of directions. My eyes darted around the garden to see where Luthien was and then backto the palace, trying to track just how much time had passed and where Aeric might be.
Luthien wouldn’t approach while I was looking frantically about. He thought I was here for a midnight stroll, nothing more. I made myself face the starvelings and stay as still as the red flowers, with my back to the garden. My poison ring seemed to replace my heart, my blood pumping through it, making my finger pulse. A strange sense of unwinding time overcame me, bringing Mother’s death with it once again. I saw the rebel standing before us.
“Run, Madalina!” Mother had cried, her Fely accent, which she always carefully concealed, strong. The man charged but tripped. He fell atop Mother.
“Madalina.” I heard Father’s voice and numbly stumbled toward it. He’d tried to unlock the gate, but he’d dropped the key into the darkness. He stuck his arm through the bars, holding out his dagger. “Take it. Now. Stab him in the back of the neck, just below the skull.” He pointed on himself to show me where. His eyes were daggers of their own, slicing me to the bone and bleeding me of all thought. He repeated himself: “Take it. Now. Place the point against the back of his neck, just below the skull. Drive it in.”
Roughly, he released me, only to grab my wrist. He pressed the dagger into it. Then he shoved me forward, toward Mother and the rebel. I staggered to them. Father’s chant filled my ears as he kept repeating it, over and over.
My hand lifted the dagger.
All the weight was in the blade, but even then, it was light, a whisper of death.
“Both hands, Madalina,” Father shouted. “Use both hands to drive it in.”
