Page 8 of Grave Flowers
I took a quick breath. I always had to, before acting like the Sinet princess I was supposed to be. “I know who it was. Baron Breton, you mention regaling your daughter with terror tales, which is endearing … except last I was aware, nursemaids facilitate bedtime, not barons. And I found your choice of terror tale fascinating. It made me think of one. Once upon a scare, there was a man who asked his king if he might charge tolls from those who used the bridge that barely touches his land. Oh my, come to think of it, that isn’t a terror tale at all, is it? It’s what you asked my father. You proclaim to care so much for Radixan independence, yet you’d impede our own people’s freedom for profit because one support of a common bridge is on the outskirts of your estate.”
Baron Breton shifted uncomfortably. He glanced around. Unfriendly stares fenced him in. He tried an uneasy smile. “I would never suggestsuch a thing,” he said. “Not when everyone relies on the common bridge.”
“Now you deny my word?” No matter how many times I made them, accusations never streamed easily from my mouth. I’d seen the true cost of them too often, epitomized in imprisonments at best and slow walks to the executioner’s block at worst. “Be aware that I’m speaking as heir to the throne and on behalf of my father, King Sinet.”
“I’d never dare deny Your Highness’s word, but I would never suggest—so, as you say, I did have the passing idea about my bridge—but I—I—”
“Leave.” I pointed to the entry. The air crackled with new excitement, chasing out the dread that had hung so heavily only moments ago. Relief and gleeful satisfaction replaced it as the court reveled in Baron Breton’s disgrace. “I’m certain few would like to see you at the next party. Or any thereafter, lest you try to collect a toll from them for being in your presence.”
Baron Breton collected himself and tried to depart as elegantly as possible, but his steps were quick, and his neck was red. No one noticed my hand hidden in the silk cocoon of my skirt. I pushed forward through the crowd. They parted before me, and the sound of the musicians playing at different times shook the discomfort from the room. My girls hurried after me, but I lifted my good hand to stop them.
They knew not to follow.
I made my way into one of the parlors off the ballroom.
Quickly, I lit a candle and placed it in a brass holder in dire need of polishing. I peered at my hand in its thin, shadowy circle of light. I gasped. Pink streaks ran from my scar in jagged bolts. The skin around it was soft and spongy.
Nightmare.
Madness.
Or was there really a ghost?
I pushed farther through the parlor and out onto the balcony. Wind, wet and full of salt, whipped through the night sky. It darted by to lick my face and dishevel my hair. I stared down at the garden, seeking peace from it, even at this height. At night, it was full of magic. Moonmirrors lifted their glowing silvery heads to the sky, their large discs projecting light. The other grave flowers made guttural noises in their sleep. Their stems and petals were iridescent at night. Fog rolled about in the wind. Even more snails glided out at night, along with glittery-eyed bats and neck-twisting owls. For most, it was disorienting and even frighteningly chaotic, but I loved it.
The scene was almost enough to grant me comfort. But not quite enough. If Inessa had appeared to me as a ghost and not a vivid nightmare, then she was dead.
The thought was destabilizing. I made a fist, turning my hand into ridges of knuckles and a bundle of fingers. I clenched every finger as though life as I knew it were balled into the center of my fist and I might return to it, if I only held on tight enough.
Notions of Bide descended upon me. We’d been raised with the concept, told often how the spirits who’d left the Family’s court had set up a screen between our world and the next one to trap human souls with unfinished earthly dealings. It was even said they tried to lure souls into the net with sweet songs and shining lights. But once you were there, it was an endless note of static, a place with no light but also no darkness. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t imagine Inessa there. She was so alive to me, so unstoppable that even seeing her as a ghost couldn’t fully convince me.
A faraway clatter cut against the grave flowers’ chorus, coming from the cobblestone road leading to the palace. It meant you heard people approaching before you saw them: a mixed rattle of jingling harnesses, creaking wheels, and clopping hooves, punctuated by men shouting.
An envoy was coming.
Sweat spread across my palms, moistening my grip on the balcony’s rail. The envoy crested the cobblestone hill, well lit by mounted lanterns and guards holding torches. Flickering tongues of fire danced across the red-and-gold Acusan flag.
An envoy coming at this time of night could mean only bad news—Inessa must truly be dead. The thought burned in my throat, making it feel like I’d drunk poison and couldn’t swallow it down.
Everything was about to change, once again.
I must help Inessa.She’d said I was the only one who could, and she was my sister and twin. For the sake of the little girls we’d been, the ones wandering through the palace with dirty faces and messy hair, scampering through the hidden passages together, I’d do what I could to free her. But how? I tried to think quickly. I needed to ensure Father investigated her death as an assassination so justice might be brought forth and she could find peace, something she’d never had in this miserable world.
Despite my determination, my breath was already weak in my lungs. I’d never approached Father of my own accord, ever. For Inessa, though, I would. I’d failed Mother in the time of her death … I would not fail my family yet again.
Inessa was depending on me, and I’d save her.
STARVELINGS
Grave Flower Experiment Two
Appearance
Black stems and thorns, tallest of all the grave flowers, with some stalks standing seven or eight feet tall. The flowers, which are purple, seem pointless in comparison to the dramatic thorns. They are long and curved at the tips and come in sequences of four or five, almost in imitation of human hands. Small slits that look like tiny mouths cover the stems, but they remained closed.
Behavior without invocation
Insatiable beasties. All the grave flowers are often thirsty, but the starvelings are also hungry. They will eat most things yet only desire one: meat. Whether the prey is animal or human, they love to kill it with their claws. They bury their prey after they’ve killed it and have extensive root systems that devour the remains over time. It seems that they savor it. Oftentimes, they make the sort of low rumbling sound that a stomach does when empty.
