Page 67 of Grave Flowers
Even so, I went.
I’d been in bed with him only an hour earlier, but this was different. Chairs put people in the same posture across from each other, making backs straight and bodies upright. The bed was an uneven sea of softness, making our limbs sink into the blankets and creating a frightening closeness. Aeric used every setting to his advantage without fail. It was as infuriatingly impressive as it was terrifying. When I was queen of Radix, I’d remember to do the same.
“You keep very sparse accommodations,” I said, trying to control the conversation. “For a prince who loves parties and wine, it’s unexpected.”
“Old habits.”
“Old habits?”
“In the monasterium, order, cleanliness, and dearth of possessions is akin to holiness. I’m still used to it. When I walk into a room here and there isn’t a spare inch of space that isn’t covered in a tapestry or a porcelain figurine, I feel crazed, as though all the air has been sucked up by the fanciness and I can’t breathe.” He fell silent, eyes lifting to stare out the large window across from the bed, seeking the bright, clean, morning in the way I naturally sought gloomy, obscuring fog. Palaces were supposed to be extensions of their monarchs, a sort of second body to aid them. In fact, should courts travel or take up summer residences elsewhere, many of the same furnishings were brought, a facsimile of the royal palace popping up around the monarch wherever they might be. The Radixan royal palace was thus for Father, Inessa, and me. But Aeric hadn’t been raised in his palace. It wasn’t his, not in the way it had been his parents’. “I also keep things secured lest there be snooping servants. I suppose I hadn’t considered a snooping princess or the fact she might be able to pick locks.”
“Truly, it’s a rudimentary skill. I was taught to pick a lock at the same time I was taught my letters,” I said, attempting to be dismissiveso he might not dwell on it. I paused. “I realize I never gave you my condolences for your mother’s passing.”
“Thank you.” Aeric’s voice became clipped, formal.
“Did they—” I hesitated.
“What?”
“Did they determine how she died?”
“No.” A deep sigh escaped his lips. “There was no sign of forced entry. She bore no pricks from a poisoned needle, no inflammation in her lungs from any inhalants, no blows, scratches, or even the smallest of bruises aside from her fingernails. They were … broken. Yet from her own force, as she clawed against the wall. Given the scratch marks and her condition, the physician can only surmise she died of …”
“Fear,” I finished. “Apoplexy of the heart.”
Queen Gertrude’s face flashed in my mind. How strange that such a heartless woman should die in such a way. What had she seen? I stared at Aeric, trying to think of how he might’ve scared her to death. He was the most likely culprit, though it was difficult to think how he executed his plan.
“My condolences,” I said again. This time he wasn’t dismissive. He nodded, slowly and heavily. His gaze fell to the blankets. “I know she must have been proud of you.” It was a tremendous lie, but we were hedged in by lies on all sides. I certainly couldn’t make Aeric suspicious that I knew his mother had planned to have him killed or that I thought he might be responsible. “I was surprised you didn’t go to the service.”
Aeric’s eyes raised to lock with mine. All vulnerability was gone, replaced by a penetrating severity. “If my mother knew I didn’t attend, I don’t think she’d mind.”
“Oh?” I pretended to be surprised. “Were you not close to her?”
“No, how could I be? I was at the monasterium for most of my life. I wasn’t close to anyone but the Primeval Family there.” His mouth twisted in a mirthless smile. “Only I don’t think they were too fond of me either.”
“I imagine she missed you,” I said softly, almost pitifully. I thought about Queen Gertrude’s clear eyes and how they glided right over everything without settling, like two restless bluebirds.
“Perhaps.” Aeric didn’t sound convinced. He picked at a thread. It was a thin strand of gold, and it stood straight up from the blanket, a stalk of wheat sprouting from a red sea. “You are quite fascinated by my parents and me. No matter what improbable location you and I may find ourselves or what odd circumstances beset us, you always guide the conversation to my house.”
“I’m marrying into your family, Aeric,” I said, struggling to sound unruffled. Perhaps I should inch to the edge of the bed so I might flee if necessary. Aeric’s eyes were empty, cold. I feared what dark thoughts they hid. However, I remained where I was, refusing to give up any ground to him and, impossibly, desiring to stay right where I was, so close to Aeric that I could see the rise and fall of his chest with each breath. “I simply desire to know its dynamics and those are often found in its history.”
“Oh?” Aeric’s tone was as empty as his eyes, even as he tore at the thread. “What tawdry family history do you wish for me to lay bare? Perhaps you’d like to hear that after my father executed the Montarios, the babies born to him and my mother began to die and he feared she might’ve smothered them? And that he feared she might strive to kill me as well? Only he had no way of knowing for certain. So I might’ve been sent away for nothing, or I might’ve been sent away because my own mother longed to smother me too. Yet you might already know this, methinks. I saw the look you gave my mother at the king-in-council. It was not a look between strangers. No, far from it.”
“I—I only wanted—”
“Whatever your reasons may be, there you have it.” Without looking at it, Aeric tore the gold thread violently from the blanket. The embroidery unraveled, the beautiful image dissembling with the tug. He cast aside the thread. “The House of Capelian is as rotten as ever an oak was sound.”
He rose to his feet. I’d pushed him too far. I’d shown too much interest, asked too many questions. He stalked around to where I lay on his bed. My finger jumped to my poison ring once again. It hovered, ready to flick the crest back and reveal the deadly stinger. He was above me, leaning over me, anger burning unrestrained in his eyes.
“Now you know,” he whispered lethally, huskily, “and best beware. Sunlight fills this place, and while it sometimes blinds, it mostly illuminates.”
Tension riddled him, riddled me.
Terror blazed within me but so did something else, something similarly fiery and fierce, as strong as the terror yet distinct from it. I saw it in him as well, coursing with the quickness of blood through veins or the rush of air through lungs. With an abrupt wordless sound of frustration, Aeric turned away. He strode to the entrance and stopped, framed in the doorway once again. Without looking at me, he said, “I’ll be back soon. Be gone by then.”
I didn’t need to be warned twice. After I was certain he was gone, I leaped from the bed and hurried out. Once his chambers were far behind me, I doubled over in one of the halls, gasping for breath. I’d learned there was a grave flower in Inessa’s chambers, one that may have only recently blossomed or been transplanted there and I’d … well, I’d saved Aeric from the starvelings, lain next to him while he slept, found myself face-to-face with him as I tried to leave his rooms. I thought of him hovering over me, rage in his eyes—yet rage that couldn’t mask the hurt behind them. My breath quickened again despite my efforts to calm it and the fact I was safe. At least for now.
“There you are, Your Highness.” I almost didn’t recognize Sindony’s voice. Usually, she sounded as chirpy as a songbird. Today, her tone was flat, void of its customary enthusiasm. I straightened as she approached. Another girl was at her side. Decima, whom I’d fired. “Prince Lambert wishes to speak with you.”
