Page 68 of Grave Flowers
I frowned. As my remaining ally, Prince Lambert would have to speak with me at some point. But Sindony’s demeanor and Decima’s presence worried me.
“I’m happy to speak with Prince Lambert,” I said. I caught my reflection in the window across the way. My nightdress and robe were crumpled. Ragged holes and dirt marred it from last night’s events in the garden. The skirt had burn marks from where the grave flower’s acid had eaten through the fabric. Most importantly, the wood rectangle sat heavily in my pocket. “But first, I need to change and freshen up.”
“He says it’s most urgent, Your Highness,” Decima interjected. Her eyes flashed beneath her brows. This was not good. If she dared to speak to me thus, it was because she felt permitted to do so. Sindony’s expression was a twin of Decima’s. Was Prince Lambert displeased with me and sent them to fetch me? I glanced around. I certainly wasn’t about to meet with Prince Lambert in my nightclothes. The door to the theater was near. If I went there, I could find a change of clothing among the costumes, quickly inspect whatever object the grave flower had spat out, and perhaps hide it backstage. If I made Prince Lambert wait, it’d also serve to indicate to him, Sindony, and Decima that I wouldn’t simply be ordered about.
“One of you tell Prince Lambert I’ll be there shortly.” I didn’t wait for their agreement or to see if one of them obeyed, choosing to avoid an outright confrontation that might shatter any remaining illusions of my power over them.
Pushing past Sindony and Decima, I entered the theater. Despite my anxieties, the theater welcomed me with its hushed, magical atmosphere, the stage spreading before me like its own little world. It was a place dedicated to pretending, and I could almost join in, playacting that I wasn’t in a tightening net that might eventually dump me in a grave.
I noticed the set had been changed since the last time I was here. There was a bench and a semicircle of plaques cut from cheap wood composite and painted gray to look real. The backdrop was paintedwith red Acusan flowers, arranged in their beds. It was the place King Claudius had gone to sit, I realized. The memory garden for the deceased babies. A clamorous cold ran up my spine. It caught on my heart, where it spread. If the play was about the Primeval Family, why was it set in the royal garden?
“Yorick?” I called, hurrying backstage and wondering if he was near and might help me.
“Here, Your Highness.” Yorick emerged from his room. The sight of him comforted me. I wanted to throw my arms around him and cling tight. Amid the web of mysteries entrapping me, he was a place of reassurance, a friend amid everything. He took in my torn dress, disheveled hair, and cuts. The color drained from his face. Instantly, his thin slouchy form became as stiff as a suit of armor. “Who did this to you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Someone has hurt you.” His voice was panicked, and he stared at me, but his eyes were glossy and unfocused. I realized, suddenly, who he must be seeing. His mother.
I took a deep breath and gently took his hand. “No one. I’m just a bit worse for wear. I’m all right, Yorick.”
“You’re all right,” he echoed dully.
“Yes.” I spoke firmly. “I’m all right.”
Slowly, he nodded and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. He blinked, focusing on me. “What I meant to say is that you look lovely, as always.” A quiver in his voice betrayed him.
“As do you,” I said. “Only … you truly do.” It was true. Despite his pallor, he wore another perfectly tailored black outfit. Black lace cut in teardrops to mimic the ones around his eyes formed patchworks on the chest. “I need to clean up a bit. Perhaps you can help me find something to wear?” Yorick was still frozen, so much so that he didn’t seem to breathe. I hesitated, wondering if I’d said something wrong or if the reminder of his mother was too much to bear. “Be as you were. I interrupted your reading.”
“No. No, I’ll help.”
“You’re certain?”
“I fear what you may come up with on your own,” he joked in a tremorous voice. I nodded, and he motioned for me to sit at one of the cluttered vanities.
I was relieved he was helping me. Backstage was even more disordered than last time. More costumes had been brought in, and I most certainly would’ve ended up in something ridiculous because most of them were outrageous—the maid costumes were revealing to the point of nonexistence, the ball gowns had ten-foot trains, and the sheep costumes bore tutus covered in pink and blue wool.
As Yorick navigated it, I took the item from Inessa’s chambers out of my pocket. Immediately, I recognized it, so much so that I nearly dropped it.
It was the plaque I’d taken from Mother’s altar and left atop the palace roof all those years ago. I clutched it, more confused than ever. I’d thought the wind had blown it off the roof, yet here it was. Slowly, I lowered it into my lap, staring fixedly at it as though my attention alone might make it reveal how it had come to be inside the grave flower and why.
I was relieved when Yorick bustled over to me. Setting the plaque down on the vanity let me at least divest it from my touch, even if I couldn’t divest it from my mind.
“Here you are, Your Highness.” Yorick had a slip dress in one hand and a corset in another. Gratefully, I took off my tattered, wrinkled nightdress and robe. They fell to the ground, and I stared at them, thinking of everything I’d done in them, from standing on the ledge to stop Aeric from plunging to his death to investigating Inessa’s chambers. I stepped into the slip dress, wishing I could switch sentiments as easily as clothing.
Yorick helped me with the corset, which went over the dress. I held it in place as he laced it up with practiced hands, making it snug but not too tight, unlike Sindony, who either turned corsets into an instrument of torture due to how tightly she closed them or a wardrobe malfunctionwaiting to happen due to how loose she left them. I thought of her waiting outside with Decima. My stomach clenched, and the nervousness made me look at the plaque once again, one cause for anxiousness making me dwell upon the other.
“There you go.” Yorick tied off the corset.
I pulled my attention to the mirror. My reflection shocked me.
“I would wear this even if it weren’t for a show,” I said admiringly. The dress was an auburn silk streaked with burgundy, and the corset was black velvet. Two thin black velvet straps, with no greater purpose beyond visual appeal, hung off my shoulders. A long slit cut all the way to my hip bone, revealing a single scandalous line of skin. I didn’t mind. Acusan fashion and its scandalous nature seemed to be growing on me.
“I did well, didn’t I?” Yorick asked. “Dress like this, and you’ll rule in more ways than one after you become queen.”
“I’ve never felt so powerful,” I admitted. I ran my hands over the skirt and paused, realizing Yorick might assist me further. “By the way, I noticed the set for the play is the royal garden. I’m confused. I thought the play was about the Primeval Family.”
“Oh, it’s Prince Aeric’s interpretation. Quite silly if you ask me and likely blasphemous if you ask a monasticte.”
