I took a deep breath. Therewasa delicate sweetness in the air.
“Do you want any?” she went on, offering the spirits.
“No, thank you. When the bottle broke, do you remember if any of the perfume fell on Delia?”
“Of course. We were drenched in it. Adelaide was too.”
“Who?”
“My very dear friend Adelaide.” She made a face. “Well.Friendis a strong word. Acquaintance, I suppose. She’s a courtier, and they’re all such sycophants you never really get to know the true side of any of them. And so you, in turn, never show them yourself either,” she mused. “Anyway. She’s the one throwing the soiree tonight. The one I’m terribly late to,” she added pointedly.
“Have you replaced the perfume yet?” I glanced at the vanity’s glass trinkets and atomizers.
“Of course not. Mother gave it to me on my sixteenth birthday…. They probably haven’t made it in years.” She looked wistfully at her collection of scents. “I don’t even remember its name now. And she’s not here to tell me.” She took another sip from the flask. Then another.
“I’m so sorry, Bella—” Her eyes flashed sharply; evidently she was irritated by my slip into casual familiarity. “Your Highness. Do you at least remember what it looked like? The bottle, I mean.”
Bellatrice slouched against the back of her chair, her eyes growing glassy and distant, and I wondered what exactly it was she’d been drinking. “It was a heart. Cut from crystal and faceted. Mother told me it was made of diamond, and for a time, I stupidly believed her. She said I was her little diamond, her special jewel. Prized above my brother and sister because I was hers and hers alone.” She threw out this sentiment with a mincing tone, but underneath her brittle irreverence, I could see how much her mother’s words had meant to her.
“That’s such peculiar phrasing,” I said gently, wondering if any of the Marnaigne children had ever had the space to openly discuss their loss. “What does it mean?”
“I’ve never been my father’s daughter, not truly. I was always only hers.”
My eyebrows jumped; I couldn’t help it. “You’re not King Marnaigne’s daughter?”
She blinked the hazy fog from her green eyes, looking confused. “What an absurd comment. Of course I am! I only meant…” She flitted her hand as though I’d been entirely to blame for the misunderstanding. “Are you done with this ridiculous interrogation? I’m already late for Adelaide’s party.”
“I just have one more question. Do you remember anything else about the perfume? What notes it had? I smell vanilla…and something floral, maybe?”
I took a deep breath, then choked as Bellatrice hit me with a well-aimed squirt from a sparkling, tasseled atomizer. My eyes stung and she tittered.
“All of my perfumes have peony in them. Every girl needs a signature scent. Why?”
“Delia was sick with the Shivers that day. Her whole family was, but she was the only one to recover, to survive. I think there was something in the perfume that helped her get well. I need to know what was in it.”
“You think if you sprayed Papa with this miracle perfume, he would get well?”
I thought of the black skull resting over his face. “I…I don’t want to make any promises, but possibly.”
Bellatrice was quiet for a very long moment, considering my request. “The dress I wore that day is in my armoire.”
I sat up straighter. “And you haven’t washed it?”
She shook her head. “No, it was already ruined—good silk can’t get wet—but I didn’t want to get rid of it. It was a present fromMother on my last birthday.” Bellatrice licked her lips, her eyes welling bright. “It was the last gift I’d ever get from her. I couldn’t bear to throw it out. You should still be able to smell the perfume on it. Perhaps that will help.”
“Would you mind if I borrowed it—just for a little while? I need to try to figure out what went into that perfume and—”
She shrugged. “Go on. Do whatever it is healers do. But I want it back when you’re done.”
“Of course,” I promised. “Thank you, Princess. Your generosity is most appreciated.”
Bellatrice raised a sharp eyebrow at me. “Don’t go around telling anyone about this. I’ve a reputation to uphold.”
Chapter 36
It was far too lateand much too dark to be working in the greenhouse.
Amber light from the gas lamps outside filtered through the leaves of oversized palms and other hothouse trees, but it wasn’t enough to truly see by. I walked up and down the landscaped paths, holding my lantern low to cast back shadows from the neatly labeled stakes identifying each of the plants.
