Page 56 of Grave Flowers
“My aversion?”
“To dancing.”
“I’m surprised you remember,” I said. We hadn’t discussed my antipathy to the dancing in any detail. In fact, it had been a passing comment as we sat outside the Oscura.
“I remember everything,” Aeric replied, a statement that made my fingers tighten even more on the armrests. However, he gazed distantly at the party, as though far from me, from it. The party, though, was very aware that their monarch was sitting quietly and suffered as a result. Whenever someone laughed too loudly, they glanced toward us as though seeking permission. Attention split between Aeric and Queen Gertrude and Prince Lambert. Only the theater troupe, which had somehow connived an invitation, remained unaware. They indulged in the festivities without restraint and were practicing some sort of activity that involved several members forming a pyramid. “For example,” Aeric said, “I remember there was a certain botanist, and now there is not.”
I wasn’t prepared for this, not here, not now.
The ballroom’s effects were suddenly dizzying. This was a party—yet Aeric was using it as an opportunity to interrogate me, just as he had during the one cup. Anger countered the panic. I welcomed it. I needed it. I needed to strengthen myself and remember who I was. He sought the upper hand once again, but he’d forgotten that I was a Sinet. If he had the upper hand, I would slice off his fingers.
“I beg your pardon?” I blinked at him.
“A botanist,” he said evenly. While I was stiff in my chair, he was the opposite. He slouched in it, elbows crooked, feet crossed at the ankle. Even his head was tilted against its back. He still stared vaguely at the party, making me even more disconcerted because his words were directed fiercely at me. “There was one working in the garden who disappeared. Only people don’t truly disappear, do they? They simply get put places. Dungeons, kingdoms of exile … graves.”
“Whatever are you babbling about?” I hid my terror behind disdain. Queen Gertrude and Prince Lambert stood on the outskirts of the ballroom. Both watched us from afar. By Family fortune, they couldn’t hear what we said. “Your playmaking has made you quite dramatic. Given your emphasis on ‘grave,’ you seem to imply he was killed.”
“Interesting,” he said. A slow smile cut across Aeric’s lips. There was too much satisfaction in it. I waited, fighting off dread and resolutely clinging to my appearance of confusion.
“Excuse me?”
“I never said the botanist was male.”
“Indulge my assumption.” Inwardly, I scrambled, siphoning from every reservoir of Inessa and Father that I had within me. I couldn’t afford a single misstep, and I’d already made one. “Most of the botanists I’ve seen are men aside from Annia, and I can’t imagine Annia running about slaying her staff. Perhaps you should have more female botanists tending your gardens—unless you prefer women as brides? That has, after all, been what you’ve relied on Radix for. Brides upon brides.”
He paused, eyes amused and alive. “Brides upon brides? Please note, I’ve only had two thus far and am hoping there will be no need for more. Hardly the quantity your phrasing implies. The botanist, by the way, was named Luthien. Must’ve been Crusan from the sound of the name.” My attempts to divert Aeric’s attention had failed. “He was a very odd fellow. I noticed him bumbling about when your sister toured the grounds. Clearly, he’d never worked a day in a garden. Then, today, I overheard Annia say she’s suddenly shorthanded. Simply seems odd to me.”
“Why would it be odd for someone to leave their job?” I asked. My scar ached from rubbing against the wood. I forced myself to relax my grip on the armrests. To my relief, I noticed nobles speaking with Queen Gertrude and Prince Lambert, distracting them. “You said he was Crusan. Maybe he didn’t like it here. You Acusans think everyone would be happiest if we all lived like you, but it isn’t true.”
“Ah, so you admit as much?” Aeric asked.
“Admit what?” Every turn of conversation brought a new level of fear as I tried to verbally evade him and remain nonchalant.
“That you and, I would assume, Radix does not like Acus nor wish for its involvement?” He’d switched topics, abandoning Luthien to guide us toward the sentiments between Radix and Acus. I suspected he did so intentionally, striving for information in any way he might pry it from me. But I was aware of it, and I’d move with great caution.
“We do not.” At least for once, I didn’t have to lie.
“As I thought.” The insouciant smile was still on his lips, but he was unrelenting. “It makes me wonder, if Radix is so committed to their independence, why did your father agree to the betrothal? I suspect it puts him in danger as well from his own people.”
“This is quite delightful conversation for a party,” I said.
Aeric shrugged, raised his goblet, and took a long drink. Laughter, music, and the tinkle of the glass-figurine dancers overhead raged loudly in my ears. The merriment made my own panic thicker, and I tried not to drown in it. I should tell him something private and close to the truth. Leaving unanswered questions in his mind would only drive him to hunt down the answers more. I took a breath. It was risky but necessary. I cut a quick glance at Queen Gertrude and Prince Lambert. They were still involved in conversation with the nobles.
I leaned against the arm of my chair so I was close to Aeric. Assuming a pitiful expression, I put my hand on his knee and looked up at him through my lashes. That alone made him rigid, as though my touch alarmed him.
“My father needs Acus’s provision,” I said in a low voice. Father would loathe me for telling Aeric, but it was the only way to explain the betrothal without admitting I was never going to be an Acusan queen. “Our harvests failed, and our coffers are empty after my father spent too much trying to repair the palace.”
“I didn’t know.” Aeric glanced from my hand on his knee to my face. The insolence faded from his eyes. Famines plagued indiscriminately and everyone feared them, though the smaller kingdoms were muchmore vulnerable. I wondered if he might put his hand over mine, but he didn’t. “The situation must be dire.”
“It is.” I took advantage of the moment. “Though your examination raises questions in my own mind. Why did you accept a betrothal to us? Radix doesn’t have much to offer you.”
Aeric took another long drink of wine. I waited, wondering if he was simply doing what he always did—remaining inseparable from the inside of his goblet—or if he was buying time to consider the best answer. He lowered the goblet.
“I admit I was surprised my mother suggested it.” Instinctively, he glanced at Queen Gertrude across the ballroom. She spoke intently to Prince Lambert. Anxiousness heightened in me. What did they speak about? “Certainly, I was prepared to wed. It’s my duty as king. As for the betrothal, the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. There’s much division between the four kingdoms, despite our shared faith. But there are advantages we’ve never explored. With Radix as a vassal, Acus would have an interest in funding roads between the two, allowing for better commerce and trade. We could institute educational courses in Radix’s monasteriums and allow commoners to work in either kingdom to increase prosperity. If Radixans work here and send coin home or vice versa, it increases the wealth for both kingdoms, which in turn makes life better and safer for everyone. Radix also has a plentitude of rocky land, something Acus greatly lacks. We could use the rocks for infrastructure and to build things like bridges, walls, and fortifications. It makes perfect sense.”
“It makes no sense,” I said shortly, pulling my hand from his knee.
“I beg to disagree. I am Acusan.” Aeric lifted his goblet as though saluting himself. “We always think we know best.”
