Page 76 of Grave Flowers
“You say the invocation as you die?” I demanded. “How does that help me? I don’t want to buy time. I want to be immortal.”
“It’s a good question,” the Fely prisoner said, and I nodded magnanimously. I am known for my good questions. “The key is to have someone plant your portrait amid the immortalities. It entangles with the roots. Whoever plants it says the roundabout invocation once again, and you are brought back.”
“Wonderful! I have several portraits I can choose from. Though I must die to live forever?”
“Indeed. Through death, you gain life.”
“Most excellent news!” I clapped the Fely prisoner on the shoulder. He winced but smiled. “My wife was ridiculous for thinking I shouldn’t bring you here. Women. They are truly unfit for anything more than babe bearing.”
He stopped smiling then, but who knows why?
“So I shall drink moonrain,” I declared. “You will bring me back immediately, and I will reign as an immortal king. Ah, I am truly happy. What a journey it has already been. I shall have my finest portrait selected for you to bury amid the immortalities. And listen closely: I will have guards watching. If you don’t bring me back, they will go to your home and drag your family here and kill them before your eyes.”
With that, I headed back inside, feeling full of hope.
x
Today is the day! Next time I write, I shall be immortal.
Chapter
TWENTY-TWO
Idreaded the next morning.
It was a lull, a horrid pause to everything. Tomorrow, Father would arrive, Aeric would be coronated, we would wed, and then I would kill him.
But today I had to wait and fear and plan and wait some more.
Considering I was the bride, I was strangely unneeded for wedding affairs. Bunches of white tulle with beaded blush hearts were quietly tacked up between the mourning ribbons, and deliveries of food and sparkling red wines transpired in the courtyard. Servants bustled by with armloads of fresh Acusan flowers and satin-trimmed tablecloths. I dismissed my girls for the day, feeling safe in only complete seclusion.
I put the plaque on my bed. My mind was thick and uncooperative, making it feel as though every thought were coated in honey. Time was ticking down, and the headway I’d made in Inessa’s murder led only to more perplexities, everything compounded further by my hurt from Yorick. Desperation and determination fought within me. There had to be a reason why the plaque was here, just as there had to be a reasonwhy a grave flower now lived in Inessa’s chambers. Where else might I find answers?
A sudden thought struck me.
Father always hid things on his person. So did Inessa and I. It was why the Acusan fashions were so threatening to us. It gave little leeway for secrets. I went to my wardrobe and threw the doors open. Satin, silk, and taffeta whispered against my legs as the gowns, no longer pressed back by the door, sprang forward. I frantically shoved them aside.
Where was it? Inessa’s red dress had a mind of its own. Why did it appear when I didn’t want it and disappear when I did?
I struggled to peer through the wall of gowns. It was like pressing through a forest of fabric. Hangers screeched against the gold bar, and gowns tumbled out, twisting around my legs.
There.
Silk, icy and sinuous, licked my fingers.
Inessa’s dress was in the very back.
Triumphantly, I dragged it out and cast it onto the bed next to the plaque. I’d worn it before, so I knew there wasn’t anything obviously tucked away inside. I hesitated, recalling how Inessa had said the silk was too thin for hidden pockets. During that exchange, it sounded like she hadn’t evenconsideredhidden pockets. But if the otherworld was bleeding into this one as she’d suggested, perhaps the red gown might have more to offer me.
I fetched the letter opener, then sliced the gown down the center. The silk parted easily beneath the blade, as though the dress wished to open itself up. I pulled apart the two sides and laid it out so it was a single piece of fabric.
Intricate seams crisscrossed it along with the knotted underside of embroidery. I ran my fingers along them, following their paths. At the hem, I felt something lurking inside the fabric. My heart swelled. There was a hidden pocket after all. I picked up the letter opener to sever the stitches, but then I noticed it wasn’t fully closed. It was truly a pocket,one you could reach into. A scrap of paper curled within the fabric like a snail within a silk shell. I pulled it out and unfolded it.
It bore Inessa’s writing:
For the Father Monasterium
7 Veris Row
