Page 5 of Grave Flowers
We weren’t the sun.
We weren’t even the stars.
We were the thick web of night trying to reclaim the world after light had burst into existence.
“Gracious, calm yourself, Sister.” Inessa walked over to the bench I’d abandoned and sat. She glanced down at her wedding invitation and flipped it over, to the distress of the beauties. She smiled slightly at her name.
Fear abated, I realized she was wearing practically nothing. Her red gown was as airy and unexpected as a startled gasp. The fabric ran up to her clavicle, but once it crested her shoulders, it hooked around her neck with a thin strap and then stopped, as though too frightened to cover her back. Her spine shifted beneath her skin, the notchedvertebrae reminding me of the knobby pearls that form a scorpion’s tail. Embroidered scrolls, perfect copies of the ones on the invitation, spilled heavily across the skirt and gathered into a riotous display at the hem.
“Whatever are you wearing?” I asked, shocked.
“This? Oh, it’s all the rage in Acus. I think it’s the sunlight there. It makes people wish to wear less clothing. It was startling when I first arrived. There were so many body parts! Shoulders, thighs … even ribs, because it’s the style to wear garments with pieces completely missing.”
“Sounds dreadful.” I brushed my hand across my thick Radixan skirt. “How could you hide a weapon?”
“It’s impossible. And you can’t even have a dagger in your boot.” To illustrate her point, she lifted her skirt. A thin satin slipper encased her foot. Ribbons wrapped around her ankle and tied off in a bow. “There’s no room for it. And the ribbon wrapping is so elaborate that it would take much too long to take it off and strangle anyone.”
“You’d be doomed,” I agreed. “Perhaps you could sew in a hidden pocket?”
Contemplating, she ran her fingers over the skirt and then shook her head. “No, the silk is too thin.”
“Thwarted again. At least you have your poison ring.”
“This old thing?” Inessa held up her hand. “It’s most bothersome. I keep using it and having to refill it. At least blades can be wiped clean and are ready to use again.”
“So you’re the reason why we are so low on moonrain,” I teased. We had a stockpile of bottled moonrain from generations ago, making me assume we’d once known how to harvest it. Hopefully, we’d figure out the practice again because our stockpile was almost depleted. I paused, then asked, “And Prince Aeric? What is he like?”
“A prince, as you’d expect.” Inessa brushed her betrothed aside like an errant crumb.
“How odd he’s still called a prince,” I mused. For all the kingdoms, kingship or queenship transferred immediately upon the death of the previous ruler. In Radix, we would instantly refer to the next monarch askingorqueen.In Acus, though, the term wasprevailing,just as it was noted on the wedding invitation. Prince Aeric was the ruler, but he was the ruler prevailing until the coronation. To streamline affairs, the wedding ceremony would follow the coronation service. By the end of the auspicious day, Prince Aeric would undergo the title change to king and have his wife, Inessa, at his side.
“It’s utterly ridiculous,” Inessa agreed. “They say it’s for holy reasons. For the new monarch to reflect and prepare his soul for the sacred ritual of coronation. It’s all well and good, but it gives too much time for others to plot. To be king in everything but name is a weakness. If I were Prince Aeric, I’d demand my coronation the very next day, royal mourning or not.”
“The people would find it terribly disrespectful,” I said. “They’d worry you were power hungry and desperate.”
“True.” Inessa pondered it. “Well, I would make very certain to look sad and humble as I was crowned.”
I winced. If anyone could act, it was her. Inessa and I had been good friends until Father told us whichever twin he deemed the best would be named his heir. Inessa changed. While I longed to be in the garden, she longed to be in the future, sitting on the throne.You don’t wish to rule,she would say.So help me and you won’t have to. You must never say a bad word about me, not even in front of the servants. Whenever I tell you something, you must do it. Show obedience so others do as well. Copy my styles but without any personal touches or imagination so everyone knows you are the imitation, not the original. Oh, and leave dark green for me alone.Standing in front of any mirror, she’d stare at herself. Sometimes she practiced crying; other times, she practiced giving orders or, as we got older, whispering to a lover. I was there to confirm whether herperformances were authentic. If ever my gaze strayed, she’d pinch me hard, then snap,Watch me.
Inessa tossed her head, oblivious to the bleak memories she’d stirred. “How has Father been?”
“Absent,” I said. “I think he’s taken to the hidden passages like a mouse, lest someone threaten him and demand he terminate the betrothal. Did the terms not take your breath away? We’ve always defended our right to be as we are.”
“What we are is poor.” Inessa snorted.
“What we are is free,” I said. “How could we let such a thing trickle through our fingers? Being a vassal is worse than being conquered.”
“Terribly dramatic, Sister.” Inessa remained unmoved. “I have a request. I was wondering if I could sleep in your chamber tonight.”
“Sleep in my chamber?” If she’d asked to borrow my head, I’d have been less surprised. “Where would I sleep?”
“With me, silly.” Impatience tightened her voice. “For old times’ sake.”
Perhaps being a bride had turned her sentimental. Love changed people. Or so I’d heard. Love was an affectation in the theater of my life. I playacted it to get loyal courtiers, to elicit secrets, to win favors. My heart was kept in a vault. I’d long lost the key, and I could feel the lock rusting like the chains around our unused gardening shed. It was for the best. I’d always known I’d be married off to someone I didn’t choose. My only hope was that whoever I wed wouldn’t mind that I spent most of my time in the garden. “We haven’t shared a meal in years, much less chambers.”
“Oblige me,” Inessa said. “On the trip back, I couldn’t help but remember how we’d slept together when we were little.”
It was true. Silly things, we’d been. We had canopied beds as huge as carriages, but we always ended up in the same one, with me going to hers or her going to mine. There, our whispers and giggles knit a new world over us, as real as the blankets we tunneled beneath. We would lie close,as though trying to re-create the closeness we’d shared inside Mother. It was an old memory, one I’d forgotten, and now that it was back before me, I didn’t know what to do with it. The years in between had corroded the recollection, giving it edges that could hurt me because of what we’d become. Warily, I walked over to sit next to her.
