Chapter Four #2
“It depends,” I say. On what the queen wants. On how much information she wants to wring from me today.
I step away from my snapdragons. Let’s get this over with.
“Felicity,” Ava says, and gestures to the door.
There’s no way to further avoid Lark. My eyes fall on him and I’m back to that night all over again, my chest heaving from crying so much. My arms tired from clinging to Card. My heart crumbled like dried, distrustful lavender. If Ava is a steady olive tree, Lark is rue. Regret.
“Fliss,” he says. My name on his lips makes nausea rise to my throat. He inclines his head ever so slightly to let me pass, and when his dark blond hair falls over those lime-green eyes, I can’t stop the twitch in my fingers.
I used to run my hands through that hair.
Gods, I hate that I get these flashes of memories.
I hate stumbling upon him around the castle so often.
No, I simply hate all of him. Here he is acting like everything is fine—like I didn’t cry until I lost my voice, like he didn’t remind me all too well that my curse can be a knife.
I haven’t forgotten. He’s fickle, and I don’t need to say it out loud to know it’s true.
Ava falls in beside me as we exit the library, her blue-and-silver one-shoulder cloak billowing behind. Lark brings up the rear, out of sight. Good.
“How have you been?” I ask the captain. A question like that from me is usually a cause for averted eyes and vague answers, but Ava is not so suspicious.
“Busy. I meant to thank you for Simon’s flowers, Felicity, and I apologize for not doing so sooner.
We’re still attempting to secure safer trading routes to prevent further rebel attacks, but unfortunately, they know the forest better than we do.
It’s imperative that Prince Merit can travel back safely for the wedding.
There’s five weeks to go and I’m sure it will fly by, so we’re preparing in advance as much as we can. ”
“It’ll be nice to have Prince Merit home,” I say, knowing Card loves it when Bash’s younger brother distracts the queen.
While Merit gets to escape his mother’s watchful eye by living in the Kingdom of Dreah for months at a time, Bash is under constant scrutiny.
That’s part of the weight of being crown prince, I suppose.
“It will. He plans to arrive in just over two weeks, and then it’ll be three weeks until the ceremony, so I’m sure his help will be greatly appreciated.”
“These are plans that are kept secret,” Lark interrupts from behind us.
Ava’s smile becomes tight. She knows what happened between the two of us. Everyone does. Loudly breaking up at Card and Bash’s engagement party ensured that.
“I’m sure no harm will come of Felicity knowing that someday, in the near future, the younger prince of Alrick will be traveling home. The wedding is on the horizon after all,” the captain says, artfully putting him in his place.
“We don’t want the rebels finding out.”
“Are you suggesting I’m in cahoots with them?” I spit out.
The clunk of his metal armor stops.
“No, that’s not what I meant,” Lark says, his tone changed. I know that when he puts this voice on—the smooth one, the silky one, the one that is supposed to reassure me that I’m wrong and he’s right—that I should get as far away as possible.
“We shouldn’t keep the queen waiting,” I say, and march down the corridor.
I know Ava has given Lark a silent warning look behind my back. That’s just who she is: a peacekeeper, a leader.
If only the same were true of the queen who awaits me.
Queen Fern’s quarters are always kept dim, with heavy velvet curtains that block out the natural light and more candles than I can count.
The wooden doors to her private chamber open hungrily, and all at once, I’m hit with an overwhelming musk of foxgloves that makes my eyes water, as if there’s a pinch of something spicier in the mix.
The purple flower, to me and other florists, carries the meaning of insincerity and riddles.
Secrets. But putting that interpretation aside, it’s also used as an aroma oil to regulate the heart.
I’ve been summoned by the queen enough in the past five years to know that she has regular panic attacks and days consumed by the irregular beat in her chest. It’s no wonder she would want to use a child who could only tell the truth to soothe her fears.
My mother had always kept us at a distance from the royal family, probably to give me a sense of normalcy in what was already a highly unusual childhood, and her dislike of the queen shut down any questions I had.
But shortly after the incident in the north, knocks came at our door with a royal command not subject to refusal, and my mother could no longer keep me—or my curse—out of the castle.
Whether she went to Queen Fern and fought against it, or even considered leaving our family home and moving out of the citadel, I doubt I’ll ever know.
If there’s one thing about my mother, it’s that she’ll always keep her mouth shut and pretend things are fine.
“Felicity.”
Queen Fern snaps my attention to her. She sits poised upright in a plush chair by the lit fireplace, wavy black hair pulled over her collarbones, her brown skin a shade paler than her husband and sons from all her time indoors.
She’s in a fur-lined green silk gown and has her usual fluffy blanket on her lap.
Across from her is a similar chair that she gestures to with a manicured hand. “Please.”
I curtsy as always, then take my seat.
“So,” she begins. Her dark eyes study me.
I know better than to relax. This is usually when she asks me to fill her in on every detail since we last spoke, and I try to convince myself it’s for the good of the people.
I tell her about the townsfolk in the lower town—whose business is taking off or struggling, who’s quarreling with whom, which families are abuzz with celebrations of marriage or pregnancy, and so on.
At the end, she always makes a point of asking if I’ve seen anything suspicious.
When my response is no, her shoulders relax as if the muscles around her ribs were clenched tight, suffocating her heart until she’s reassured by the truth that all in the citadel is at peace.
Today, however, she surprises me.
“I know you’ve been looking for a particular flower,” the queen says.
“You do?”
The laugh she gives is barely a breath. “Felicity, I know everything that happens in this kingdom. Of course I know. You asked every one of my gardeners and physicians. In fact, I was dismayed when you didn’t ask me for help personally. You know you can come to me for anything, dear.”
I hesitate.
I’ve never quite trusted her—how can I, when all she wants from me is information about others that they don’t consent to give?
But she does this often. She floats words of kindness and attempts to make us sound close.
When I was younger, I was more easily swayed.
I know better now. I know what she wants from me: my curse and my silence.
I bow my head, as I can’t truthfully agree or apologize.
“The Odyssa, is that the name?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Well, then, I can help.”
I shoot my eyes up. From the pulled smile and tilt of her head, I can tell my eagerness has pleased her.
“How…?”
She waves her hand. “We’ve known each other for years now, Felicity, so you know how this goes.”
Oh, of course. I hadn’t doubted it. She’ll want some truth in return. Information. Ah…I do have something. I have my meeting with Willoh Vane in the forest. But he helped me. It wouldn’t feel right to snitch on him to a queen who hates his existence almost as much as her son does.
“Anything to share?” she prods.
“Yes,” I say. “This isn’t the first unusual request for a rare flower I’ve had recently.”
I decide to tell her about the anonymous request for the Feiyan, that I found the flower in the northern forest (without mentioning Willoh), and that the request for the Odyssa seems to be from the same person. When I finish my expertly worded tale, she hums.
“Interesting,” she says. “And you have no idea who wants the flowers or what they want them for?”
I plaster on a smile. “Your Majesty, I admit I was curious. They seem to have more knowledge than me, but with respect, it’s not professional to pry into the identity of my anonymous customers. I do my best to strive for a reliable, trustworthy reputation.”
The glow of the fire flickers in her eyes.
“Of course, dear, but please come and tell me if you feel concerned at any point,” she says, then reaches to her side table.
With bony fingers, she lifts a battered hardback book.
“Here. A good friend of mine was able to source this at the Library of Heris and send it over promptly. I hope it will help you deliver this flower just as efficiently as the last.”
She passes the book over and I read the title: From Bud to Bloom: Mountain Regions and Their Wildflowers.
This is a debt she’ll hold over my head.
She’ll want to know how this story ends, how it could affect the kingdom she so desperately tries to keep stable without her husband at full strength to share command.
For now, at least, all she says is “Good luck.”