Chapter 17
In late morning, when even the laziest courtier has emerged from their beds, I dress in my red skirts and take a leisurely stroll in the palace gardens.
I carry a woven willow basket in one hand and delicate floral shears in the other, the very picture of domesticated grace.
My red hood is pulled back, allowing the weak sunlight to warm my face and ensuring everyone can see me admiring the last of the autumn blooms.
And, as always, my copper-armored tails follow at a short distance. Four. How can I lose four of father’s copper guards at once? I watch them out of the corner of my eye, the gravel path crunching beneath my feet as I wander between boxwood hedges.
There are other nobles here, as I had expected.
They’re all vipers dressed in rich velvets and fur-lined cloaks.
Jewels glint at their throats and wrists, catching what little light filters through the overcast sky.
One might think they’re out to get the last of the fresh air before the world grows cold, but I know better.
They’re out to be seen, just like I am. And to hear the most recent gossip, whispered through lips painted in shades of pink and red.
They try not to gape at the angry, red scar across my throat.
I wonder what the palace story is, how they will explain away my injury.
If the nobles knew about the escaped Wolf, they wouldn’t be out here prancing around the garden.
For one brief moment, I allow myself to imagine what these people would do if a corpse wolf appeared on the lawn.
Gnashing teeth, blood-soaked silks, screams, tears.
Would they finally abandon their petty intrigues then?
“Your Highness,” a young woman curtsies as I snip a wilting rose and drop it into my basket. When I look up, I realize it’s Elena. Her pregnant belly stretches the taut copper fabric of her dress. Her silver-blond hair is intricately braided and pinned, glinting in the weak sunlight.
Eyes follow us, soaking in the gossip to spread around court later. The king’s pregnant mistress, talking to his heir in the garden. How insolent.
Elena doesn’t appear to notice that she’s overstepping. Or doesn’t care.
“You’re taking advantage of the last of the year’s flowers, I see.” She bends slightly forward to smell a bloom still attached to the vine. “With all the roses in your personal chambers, I’m surprised to see you in the gardens. We all heard about the gorgeous display my cousin sent you.”
Nearby, her ladies giggle prettily, the sound like delicate bells. I can practically see their ears straining to hear my response.
So, no mention of the broken engagement. Father must not have told anyone. News like that would’ve spread faster than the pox. Perhaps he’s planning to force me into this marriage. It won’t work.
I hold up my basket of autumn roses. “For my late mother,” I say, with just a hint of sadness.
Elena’s perfect composure slips, but just for an instant. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize …”
“That I was making the last bouquet of the season for my mother’s grave?
” I give her a pitying smile. “No, you couldn’t have known.
” I watch her reaction as I add, “She died in childbirth, you know. Doing her duty to give the king an heir.” I snip the head of another rose, then straighten to look Elena in the eyes. “Me.”
Her face pales slightly. “I hear she was an exceptional woman. As was your grandmother.” She rubs her hand over her distended belly. “You remind me of her, actually.”
Her kindness takes me by surprise, especially after my cruelty. My hand slips, pricking my finger on a thorn. A drop of blood blooms bright on my skin. I wipe it away with my thumb.
“I’m nothing like my grandmother.” I snip more blooms. “Everyone adored her.”
“Do you know why?”
When I look at Elena, there’s an openness to her face that I didn’t expect. I fear a trap. After all, I’m so used to them here in my father’s court. I’m primed for trickery.
“She was kind,” I say. Simple, yet truthful.
Elena smiles faintly, then takes a step closer to me. Her whisper flutters against my ear. “She wasn’t kind, Sienna. She was strong. She was strong for our people. Your people.” She takes a step back, her placid smile hiding whatever intention she had in telling me this.
“You might be more like her than you know.” Elena curtsies, her silver-blond hair glinting in the sunlight. “I will leave you to your mourning, Your Highness. We keep the late queen and her mother in our thoughts.”
All I can do is nod as I watch her glide away to her crowd of fluttering maidens. They send curious glances over their shoulders as they head toward the topiary garden. A giant green hare and fox watch over them as they pass.
There must be some reason the king’s mistress broke decorum to speak to me about my grandmother, but I can’t discern what.
Is she trying to unnerve me? Psychological torture isn’t above my father’s purview.
Could it be her specialty as well? Maybe the sweet, smiling mistress is not what she initially seems.
At least I accomplished one mission this morning. If anyone sees me visit the cemetery later, no one will question it. That is, if I can ever lose these infernal copper tails.
A guard eyes me from behind the trickling fountain several yards away.
I spend an hour walking the perimeter of the gardens, trying to come up with a plan.
All around me, twisted stems reach up from the ground, their tips dead-headed by gardeners unwilling to permit the decaying flowers to sit proudly upon a throne.
It’s a silly way to feel about flowers, but I pity them.
Peonies, roses, chrysanthemums, and dahlias—all with lives cut short because they don’t meet the expectations of perfectionists and masochists.
At the edge of the royal gardens, the labyrinth’s shaded entrance catches my eye.
In an instant, a plan forms. It’s so foolhardy, it just might work.
I discreetly scan my tails. The closest one is still several yards away.
I maneuver through the garden to put as many obstacles as possible between us. He doesn’t appear to notice.
This may be my only shot. I make a sudden turn for the labyrinth.
Before they even notice, I’m inside, the yellowing hedges tall enough to hide me.
The second I round the first corner, I run.
It only takes a moment for the guards to realize where I’ve gone, but the twists and turns of the labyrinth conceal me.
The guards’ armor clanks wildly behind me.
I skid to a halt in front of the labyrinth’s many exits and make a quick decision.
If I leave now, I’ll never get far enough to escape to the cemetery unseen.
Instead, I grab a handful of flowers from my basket and toss them out the exit, then run deeper into the labyrinth.
At my first opportunity, I tuck myself behind the first statue I see, a mournful maiden draped in stone silks.
My heart pounds in my chest so fiercely I might pass out.
I focus on quiet, slow breaths as their steps grow closer.
Suddenly, a guard yells. “This way! The southern exit!”
I listen as their armor clanks further and further into the distance.
The labyrinth grows quiet. Not only have I lost the tails, but they’re heading in the opposite direction from the cemetery.
It’ll take them hours to catch up with me.
By then, I’ll have rendezvoused with the Wolf.
With any luck, I’ll be even closer to finding out the truth.
As I move to leave, a figure darts past the stone maiden’s sanctuary, heading deeper into the labyrinth.
I peer out into the passage beyond, just in time to get a better glimpse.
It’s a woman wearing a voluminous cloak, her hood pulled low over her face.
Just as she rounds a corner, a gust of wind blows her cloak open, exposing a flash of copper fabric stretched taut over a swollen belly. My breath catches.
It’s Elena.
Her presence in the gardens isn’t what’s odd. It’s her solitude. No woman carrying the king’s child should wander the grounds alone. And I highly doubt she outran her tails the way I just did.
Curiosity takes over. I abandon my plan and plunge deeper into the labyrinth.
Its walls seem to close in around me. Elena has vanished.
I hold my breath to listen. To my right, there’s a whisper of gravel and hurried footsteps.
I turn to follow her, keeping my steps as light as I can, pausing to listen at each crossroad.
Just when I think I’ve lost her, I hear a breathless whisper.
“Now is not the time to second-guess anything. We’re too far along to turn back now.”
It’s a man. A shiver of horror runs down my spine. I know that voice. It’s Commander Malen.
Then, Elena. “But what if he doesn’t look like him?”
“Do you think the king will care what his son looks like, as long as he has a new heir?”
My eyes widen in shock. I strain to look past the thick hedge walls, but I can’t see them through the leaves.
“If he suspects the baby isn’t his, I’ll be killed.” Elena’s voice is edged with fear.
“And if he doesn’t,” Malen says, “we’ll have the wealth of an entire kingdom at our disposal.”
“How easy for you to say, when it isn’t your neck on the line.”
“Enough!”
I press my ear into the prickling hedge, straining to hear every word.
Elena’s voice is barely audible. “I’m afraid.”
A pang of sympathy stabs my chest. Some small part of me knows I should hate this woman.
But I don’t. Maybe it’s because I don’t want the throne to begin with.
Maybe it’s because I know what it’s like to belong to a man like my father.
She’s trapped in a poisonous snare that she’ll never be able to escape now.
Not unless death claims her first. Like my mother … like my grandmother.
All the women in the king’s circle die. All except me. So far, at least. And right now, I’m not sure how long that will last.
Malen’s voice is sharp and cruel on the other side of the hedge. “What do you possibly have to be afraid of?”
“It’s coming. The baby.”
“That’s what babies do.”
“What if I die in childbirth, like the queen?”
My heart sinks. That is my mother’s legacy, a fearful story that expectant mothers worry over. A monster under the marriage bed. A ghost who haunts every birthing room. It’s tragic.
I wonder if my comment in the garden has something to do with the anxiety in Elena’s voice. Guilt slides through my chest, thick and black as tar.
“Then you die a hero,” Malen says, impatient. “A lowly woman who gave the king a new heir. A chance to put our family on the throne for generations to come.”
“This was a terrible mistake.”
“Too late for that.”
My foot slips on the gravel, and I freeze, cringing at my carelessness. The maze grows silent.
“Who’s there?” Malen calls out.
I turn and run, twisting down identical pathways until I burst from the labyrinth. Too late, I realize my basket has spilled. Dark red roses litter the path behind me.