“I can get in. There are keys,” I explained to her. “Two other keys.”
“Keys?” Viktor echoed with interest, and I wanted to curse. My mind felt like a buoy caught in a rough storm, lurching back and forth on its tether. I couldn’t think well enough to keep track of so many conversations. “We don’t need the passageways?”
Julien was silent but I could almost feel him within me, riffling about for information.
“We don’t, but she doesn’t know where they are,” he confirmed.
“Did you ever see them, Constance?” I pressed. I could feel her hand leaving mine, her form nearly gone, and I was desperateto eke out whatever information I could before she vanished once again. “Constance, do you know where they are?”
Her brow furrowed, as if dredging up the words took considerable effort. “No. But he’d use the plants. Their secret messages. You just have to—”
She disappeared.
I waited for a beat, certain she’d sputter back into view, but a minute passed by. I could hear the room’s clock tick off every second. Nothing.
The room felt too silent.
When I turned back, I noticed Julien had twisted all the way round, leaning against the back of his chair, his mouth set in a firm line as he studied me. Viktor remained frozen behind the settee, eyes blazing with wonder.
I glanced back and forth between the pair of them. It would be impossible to keep them away now. “How well do you know your flowers?”
“There’s nothing here,” Viktor whined, pacing back and forth along the length of wall.
“It’s the last room in this hall. There must be something.”
We’d started searching the rooms closest to Gerard’s study, assuming he’d want to keep a spare key close by should his go missing.
The first had been a small parlor overrun with towering trees in marble pots and chairs so spindly they reminded me of spider legs. The next had smelled of dust and neglect. Its walls werepapered over with peeling pastels and the woolen rug was full of divots made from furniture now long gone. There was a room full of chairs left in odd arrangements, another with a harp and music stand. We’d searched every room in this wing, even going back into my own, and had found nothing.
“Julien, what about your side?”
His shoes clicked across the tiled floor. “Not a single geranium, dragon’s tooth, or porcelain flower to be found.”
We’d made a list of every flower we could think of that was used to protect or conceal.
Thorn apples and white roses. Foxgloves and tansies.
“I don’t think your spirit knew what she was talking about,” Viktor said with a sigh.
“She’s not my spirit,” I snapped.
He listened at the door for a moment before carefully opening it. Dawn was only an hour or two off and servants would be starting to stir within the house once more. After a moment’s pause, he left.
“There’s nothing here,” Julien agreed before slipping through the door himself.
I scanned the room one last time, disheartened. It had taken us hours to search through those few rooms. Trying to find the right flower in a house devoted to them felt impossible. I’d sooner be able to persuade Gerard to hand over the key from his own neck.
In the hall, Viktor and Julien stood outside my rooms. I couldn’t make out their actual words but I could tell they were bickering over something. Every muscle in my body ached, weary for sleep. A sigh escaped me as my eyes rolled up, begging Pontus for fortitude.
I’d had about all I could stand of the Brothers Laurent for the night.
The candlelight flickered, catching on the patterns of marble leaves tracing across the ceiling, and I stopped in my tracks.
Ignoring the brewing argument, I made my way down the hall, back toward Gerard’s study.
Directly across from its door, a tree vaulted up the wall, jagged bark and twining branches. It was a hawthorn. Clusters of berries hung among the stony leaves but the twigs were riddled with wickedly sharp spikes, some inches long.
The perfect protection.
