Chapter Forty-One
This was the truth of fairyborn magic, the one that allowed so many of us to hide in plain sight: even as it’s drawn upon,
it cannot be perceived. There are no wisps of smoke, no glimmers of light at our fingertips. Any onlooker might mistake it
for a moment of quiet introspection. A summoning of will.
It is secret and sacred—a journey through the layers of ourselves, the way our fairy ancestors once descended through the
mounds to their realm. One that can only be taken alone.
That meeting place appeared differently to everyone, a gift that was uniquely their own. Mama once described hers as a single
pale crystal glowing in the woods.
Within me, it was a garden.
Alone in the still room, I placed an empty flacon before me and carefully portioned out the beginnings of Immortal Rose I had already blended to account for how little nectar I had. The perfume’s scent curled around me. After adding a drop of
the blood Mrs. Keyes had collected from Hugh, I held that flacon in one hand and the bottle of the nectar in the other and
closed my eyes.
In that stillness, I drew out the seed of shimmering gold from my heart, imagining it flowing through my body with twining
roots. In the darkness behind my eyelids, with no sight to interfere, the floral notes of Immortal Rose sharpened, became
greener, like the memory of their earliest life, when they’d first pushed through the garden’s soil.
Then, as if I had dreamt them into being, they were before me, a vision of a vast, lush garden that spread out as far as the
eye could see in every direction. Blankets of pink, blue, red, and purple blooms swayed in some phantom breeze. The sight
of them allowed me to step out of that fear I’d felt, the horror, and into something pure, and mine.
I had escaped here so many times as a child, not knowing what it was, only seeking a safe place to hide from the pain of beatings.
Even now, it had the power to soothe me.
I took a step forward and was rewarded with the release of the warm, sparkling flutter in my chest. The sky was crystal clear, the color of the finest aquamarine. Here, it was always day. There were no shadows.
Flowers and herbs sprung from the soil as I continued down the path, as if eager to follow me to the soul of the garden. Jasmine
bloomed on ancient stone walls, and here and there, the lilies turned their faces toward me, encouraging. I felt Mama walking
beside me as surely as I felt my own heartbeat.
The warmth in my chest turned sparkling. Divine. How easy it would be to simply stay here, to lie down in the cool grass and rest. The temptation stole my breath.
The bottles in my hands felt sun-warmed as I followed the final curve of the path beyond the hedge grove to where a sprawling
oak awaited me—solitary, vast, ancient.
A soft, otherworldly hum filled my ears as I stretched a hand toward its gnarled trunk, stroking it. My love was overwhelming,
enough to bring hot tears to my eyes.
The oak’s song turned anticipatory. Adoring. When it quieted, I knew it was waiting for its offer. Here, in the past, I would
have whispered, I give you a night’s sleep for another’s slumber, or a lock of my hair’s beauty, so that another may be so perceived. Precise, precise, precise. That had been Mama’s greatest lesson.
But this was the first time I had come here to offer a fairy fruit’s magic, and for a moment, I was at a loss for what to
do.
The hum returned, pulsing in time with the fluttering in my chest, with my heart.
The words came to my mind then, as if someone had whispered them into my soul.
I held up the bottles, pouring that single drop of nectar into the other flacon. Gripping it in one hand and placing the other
back onto the oak, I spoke. I seek to make Immortal Rose, the antidote of all poisons and venoms. I offer the nectar of the flowering Afallach tree to
make it so.
So there would be no mistake of whom the perfume was intended for, I brought an image of Hugh to mind, enveloping him in a
golden, healing light, envisioning the poison lifting from him like smoke.
There was a last moment of quiet before I felt the stirring of magic within the oak. It raced up the length of my arm in whorls
of light and power. The force of it nearly knocked me back, threatening to sever the connection between myself and the magic
roaring through the air. The heat coiled at my center, blinding, until I blazed like a star.
Then, as quickly as it had come on, the outpouring of magic eased, cooling like sand as it settled closer to my skin once more. A ragged breath escaped me as the last of its coils spun around the hand clutching the flacon.
The tree fell silent, and the garden receded. When I opened my eyes again, I was in the still room, the first brush of predawn
stealing in through the windows behind me.
I held up the completed perfume, bringing the quizzing glass to my eye. Inside the flacon, the perfume swirled with fading
glimmers, and the scent that filled the air was nothing short of divine.
Tears pricked my eyes again as I breathed in that lost scent, the impossible beauty of Immortal Rose. I had never smelled
anything like it and likely never would again. For a moment, I was Venia herself, waking to new life beneath the roses in
the garden of the gods.
I set the quizzing glass down and placed a stopper in the flacon. Relief sent a wave of tremors through me as I picked up
another bottle and began blending the other components of the perfume again, finishing it without the nectar. Done, I sealed
it and stepped back.
The lingering effect of the magic that had coursed through me left me in an exhausted daze. Taking that small, precious dab
of perfume with me, I made my way upstairs.
The melancholy light covered the bedchamber like a mourning shroud, dimming even the light from the roaring fire in the hearth.
The onslaught of heat made me lightheaded as I crossed the threshold.
Mrs. Silver looked up from where she was stroking Hugh’s damp hair from his forehead. She and the others had bathed him before
piling wool blankets over his shivering form.
The sight of his clenched jaw, tensed with pain, reassured me. He was still alive. He could still be saved.
“May I have a moment alone with him?” I asked.
Mrs. Silver took in the sight of me. I wondered if she might have suspected, or if she was afraid I might try something reckless.
As it was, it was too late to prevent either.
“Of course, ma chère,” she said as she rose and came toward me. She leaned down to kiss my forehead. The simple act left my
throat thick and my hands trembling.
My eyes went to the portrait of Mama on the easel.
“I cannot regret this,” I told her. “I’m sorry.”
With a final look, I moved to the bed. The mattress dipped as I sat beside Hugh. He stirred in response. He was so pale—his eyelids fluttered, as if he was fighting with every bit of that abominable will to open them.
“It’s all right,” I told him, stroking his clammy cheek. “Everything is well. You can rest.”
He strained again.
“It’s all right,” I whispered again, pulling out the flacon’s stopper. The scent of Immortal Rose released like a lover’s
sigh, but my heart’s hammering didn’t ease until Hugh’s breath evened out.
“There we are,” I said, dabbing the perfume onto my finger.
I painted the fragrance along his jaw, along the curve of his top lip, down his neck to that hollow at the base of his throat,
until there was nothing left in the bottle. On the chance it might help in some small way, I set it on the table beside the
bed, studying his face for any change. If anything, he only sank deeper into sleep.
Lifting his uninjured arm, I slid into the bed beside him, resting my head against his shoulder. His chest rose and fell beneath
my hand as I slid it over his clean shirt, searching for his heartbeat. There was a rustle as he instinctively turned his
face toward me, his cheek settling against my hair. My heart swelled until I feared it would shatter.
I must have dozed off, because the next thing I was aware of was a soft knock at the door. I bolted upright, twisting around
to look at Hugh. The fear that ripped at my heart lessened with the next steady, deeper breath he drew in.
Bewildered from the brief sleep, I rose, straightening my hopelessly ruined dress. The light in the room was a touch brighter;
it had likely been only a few minutes.
Fleming waited in the hall, his expression grave. He held out a slim note. “This has just come for you, my lady. From the
palace.”
Desperation pierced me as I took it from him and broke the seal. I already knew what it would say. Come at once. It is his final hour.
“My lady?” Fleming prompted. “How may I assist you?”
“I’ll . . .” God, could I really do this? “I’ll need the coach brought round.”
He nodded, looking relieved to have something to do. “At once.”
There was no going back now.
Quickly, I changed into a simple brown dress and grabbed one of the dark cloaks. Felicity had sewn a pocket into it at my request, and it would be just big enough to hold the other flacon.
I lingered at the bed, leaning over Hugh to brush my lips against his. Rising, I pulled myself together, trying to settle
my mounting nausea with a deep breath. God, it was awful leaving him before I knew for certain if Immortal Rose had worked.
Tearing myself away felt like ripping my heart in two and leaving half of it with him.
But step by step, I forced myself out of the room. Down the hall. Down the stairs. Down the servants’ corridor into the kitchen.
Down the garden path.
Down, down, down to the hell of seeing this terrible business through.
I stared out the coach’s window, watching the procession of coaches reentering Summerland Palace’s forecourt to convey their
lords and ladies home. Of course. Dawn had arrived, and now they would amble home to their beds, sleep away the day, and when
they rose again, their world would be the same as it ever was. Serene, gilded, easy.
My resentment festered.