Page 65 of Grave Flowers
A strange compulsion came over me. It was the sort that beset you when you knew eyes were upon you and that you must seek them out. I lifted my chin. My gaze traveled up the walls to the ceiling. Horror gripped me, driving my strength from me.
Stems, leaves, and roots spread above my head. The leaves were dark green whorls, while the roots and stems were black. They’d swarmed over a large chandelier, encasing it so only glimpses of crystal sparkled between the leaves and vines. One giant flower sat in the center of the ceiling. A dark red stain spread out underneath it, as though the plaster had been daubed in … blood? The leaves and stems spread from it. Gurgling liquid ran through the stems, making them swell at different points, all rushing to the large blossom. The flower’s outer petals were a soft, misty gray that darkened at the center until they were pitchblack. Shiny teardrops ran over the petals, weeping from the center but becoming absorbed before they ever fell. Tucked between them was an odd shape, something that didn’t quite seem to go.
A human arm swung down.
It hinged on the elbow and swayed back and forth.
A wound split the side of the hand. Webbed, dense tissue clustered around the gash, as though pushed aside by the gaping laceration. It ran to the wrist.
Black liquid trickled from the limp fingers.
I stumbled back in terror.
Suddenly, the hand lifted. It jolted and shook, then reached forward, trying to grab my face. A bizarre gravitational pull gripped my hand—no, my scar. It felt like a fiery string of pain tied my scar to this gruesome hand and that the two wished to join, to clasp, to interlace. With a shriek, I grasped my own wrist and pulled, desperate to free myself from the force dragging me to the other hand. My skin stretched cruelly. Tiny tears appeared in my flesh. Agonizing, grinding pressure descended on my wrist bones. At any second, my wrist would snap like a twig. I was hauled forward, despite my feet trying to dig into the slick marble.
I threw myself back. My body weight pulled against the force. It was enough to break its hold. I toppled to the floor, my head striking the wall. A bright explosion of pain spiked through my skull, but there wasn’t time to assess the damage. I staggered to my feet; the blow had left me dizzy. I collided into an oil painting on the wall. It clattered to the ground, the frame splintering on impact and the canvas tumbling free.
The large blossom stirred, as though the grasping hand had awakened it. Its petals shook. More tears wept from its center. They splattered onto the marble in bursting drops. The flower made a strangled gulping sound, as though it’d swallowed air and water at the same time. Gulp by gulp, it drew the arm back into itself, reeling it up and in. The hand still reached for me, but just before it disappeared between the petals, it turned on the flower. It tore at the petals. Its nails slashed and left deep gouges. The flower shuddered and hissed in the same strange soprano but didn’t stop.
Finally, the arm disappeared. I thought the blossom might go back to sleep, but the tears grew heavier. Petals unfurled from the top of the flower like a frill. It expanded its reach, making the rain fill the room. A droplet landed on my skirt with a sizzling sound. I batted at my nightdress as though it were an ember. It ate through the fabric. I needed to escape before any drops touched my skin.
I plunged toward the door so I might escape back to Aeric’s chambers, casting fearful glances up as I did. At the sound of my retreat, the petals grew even faster and surged like a tide across the ceiling, trying to reach me. Desperately, I grasped the knob. I looked over my shoulder once more. A long strand of dark hair fell out from where the arm had been. It was immediately slurped up.
Something else hit the floor with a thud.
Desperately, I dove forward. My hands closed around something wooden and rectangular. I clutched it close to my chest.
Then I ran back to the door, burst through it into the passageway, and shut it behind me just in time.
Chapter
NINETEEN
Safe in the hallway, I tried to collect myself. I abandoned the sheets and tucked the rectangular object into the pocket of my nightdress. If Aeric was still asleep, I merely needed to leave and return to my own chambers, where I might inspect whatever the grave flower had dropped. I crossed the hall and reached for the door. My hand shook, pain radiating from the scar and the terrors I’d just endured. I gripped the knob tightly, forcing away the tremors.
I stepped out and softly closed the door behind me. For a moment, I was disoriented. When I’d first brought Aeric to his chambers, it’d been just after dawn. The sky had been blushing the night away, but it’d still been a dusty pink. Now the pink had been replaced by yellow as daylight descended; it was much brighter than when I’d left. Due to the dimness from the hall and Inessa’s rooms, I felt as though I’d been tossed roughly through time. My mind stumbled about, and I struggled to focus.
Then I saw it.
Aeric’s bed, minus one Aeric.
The blankets twisted across it like rivulets of red blood against the snow-white fitted sheet, and the pillow bore the indentation of his head, but he was nowhere to be seen. He must have awakened and left, I rationalized. Then I heard running water sloshing against porcelain. The sound drew chills across my skin, reminding me of Inessa nearly drowning me. He hadn’t left at all. He was taking a bath in the adjoining room. By the Family, how might I escape now? Carefully, I walked to the door to the next suite, angling my body so I might not be directly seen.
My betrothed sat up to his waist in foaming water, the faucet gurgling its contents into the tub. His head tipped far back on the rim, and his eyes were closed. His skin and hair glistened as though he’d dunked himself before settling against the side, wine stains washed away. My heart lurched and terror spiked through me. The only way out was through the main entry. However, the water was loud, Aeric’s eyes were closed, and should I move swiftly and on tiptoe, I might be quiet. Perhaps I could skirt by him. Any guards who saw me wouldn’t dare mention my presence to him, as it would be improper for them to comment on what they’d think of as a romantic liaison.
I ran my hands across my nightdress, the rectangle of wood heavy in my pocket. The shaking had stopped, but my hands were weak, and my scar throbbed. I couldn’t linger. Holding my breath, I sashayed soundlessly into the bathing chamber. Rigby had insisted I learned to move in silence no matter the magnitude or rigor of my dance postures, and my feet remembered how to be swift and void of sound. Only my nightdress whispered against my legs, but the burbling water covered it.
I went as fast as I dared, my eyes fixed on the opposite door, the one leading to the next chamber and ultimately to safety.
The faucet turned off.
The water reduced to nothing but drips.
“I thought I dreamed you were here.” The hoarseness in Aeric’s voice roughened it to a deadly rasp.
I drew back, seeking a place to hide, even though I knew I’d been caught. There was nowhere to go. I turned to Aeric. He leaned against the tub, his arms spanning its sides just as they had the railing the night we’d first kissed, his body forming itself to the palace surrounding it. The curve of the tub made his arms angle toward me, as though he reached for me even now, and the sight harrowed me to my bones. Inessa had pulled me down into the belly of my bathtub. Might he do it now? Had I escaped one drowning only to know the horror of the experience before I was fully drowned by my betrothed, here and now? Still, he didn’t lurch toward me. He simply stayed where he was, considering me with a cold and removed gaze.
“Do you mind?” he asked, motioning toward a towel folded on a stool. “My attendants have been mysteriously absent this morning.”
