A round-faced young girl flanked by a man and a woman stood outside.
And in front of her was another child, with her back to Lilac. Shorter. Younger. Auburn brown hair and a crooked stance, as if she couldn’t wait toleave whatever dull conversation her parents had roped her into for formality’s sake this time.
“What do you say, Lilac?” said Henri. His hair was lush and brown, leaving no gaps atop his scalp.
“Maybe she’s not ready,” Marguerite crooned, inspecting her manicured nails. “Perhaps this was a poor idea.”
The girl’s parents exchanged silent glances, then looked to Henri.
“Nonsense,” he laughed, twirling his mustache as he did when he was nervous. He bent to the girl’s height and placed a hand on her shoulder. “You’re going to come live with us next week, understand? You can visit with your parents every turn of the season if you wish. You and Eleanor will be fast friends.”
The girl’s face lit up spectacularly, but fell when Marguerite said, “You will serve her. That is it.”
Her parents ushered her back out, toward the awaiting carriage. Hedwig scurried in, and scooped up the girl with brown hair, who’d covered her ears with her parents’ bickering.
“How would you like to bake a pie with me, young lady?” Hedwig said, with a playful poke on the belly.
Young Lilac went away happily in her chef’s arms, her own wrapped around Hedwig’s neck.
But Lilac—the one who’d weathered both time and memory—remained in the middle of the foyer.
“What was that?” said Henri, turning on Marguerite furiously and motioning for every guard in the room to leave. “You will not speak to her that way.”
Marguerite stepped to him, her voice low and angrier than Lilac had ever heard it. “I shall speak to her as I please. Do you truly believe I welcome the bastard echo of your infidelity, wandering these corridors like a prancing ghost?”
Henri’s hand rose, brushing his brow, as if trying to press the truth back into his skull. “You agreed?—”
“Isaidshe would not be cast into the gutter,” Marguerite cut in. “Not left to rot in the streets. Notabandoned, as I was forced to abandon my own.” Her throat bobbed, her eyes glistening. “Twins, Henri. Torn from me, at my father’s command. I have never seen their faces. Riou scouredthe records for me. And you have never been any help.” She shrugged, silent tears falling. “Never.”
“And what,” Henri snarled back, his expression twisting. “And if we found them, then what? You’d bring them here? Filled this castle with three crownless girls with nothing to their name, surround and overwhelm the one with the timid voice and anxious hand, and call that mercy? Would they be gift to our daughter? Each a persisting monument to what I failed to sire?” He motioned around the foyer. “No boys? Nomen?”
Heartbreak flashed across Marguerite’s face. She sniffled. “Let Agnes take Piper, then, Henri.”
“Agnes will leave Piper for dead,” Henri warned. “Or worse.”
“She is no better than me.” Marguerite turned for their tower stairs, her skirts dragging behind. “She will know no kindness from me under this roof. She won’t find warmth here. Not from me.” She looked back once, over her shoulder. “And you? You think there’s anything inyouthat resembles warmth or love?”
45
The library shifted, rumbling from within. The floor lurched, and she teetered sideways. Garin snagged Lilac by the waist, tugging her close and smearing her tears into his shirt. “It’s all right,” he murmured softly. “Tell no one.”
She nodded, too shocked to form words, unable to process fully what they’d just seen.
“Out,” said the Bugul Noz behind them, his sticky wet fingers on Garin, shoving them toward the door. “And tell no one what you saw.”
Garin’s voice cracked louder, like a whip over her shoulder. “What is this? What have you done?”
“Something wakes. Older than memory.” The Bugul Noz looked back, into the further recesses of the archive. “Getout. Hurry, my boy.”
Cracks laced the marble beneath their feet and shelves trembled, loosing several books that clattered to the floor. The statue at the heart of the sanctum began to bleed dust and blood from her eyes.
A lone splinter threaded through her.
Lilac didn’t wait—she ran for the green, glowing tome that pulsed in the hands of the altar. As she reached for it, the ground gave another lurch, slamming her to the ground. She scrambled to her feet, elbows and knees stinging, but Garin pulled her up by the arm and tugged her out.
“I believe you dropped that one earlier, Garin,” the Bugul Noz shouted over the noise, moving to grab the book for them—but he hissed, snapping his smoking hand back. The green book remained upon the crumbling statue.
The creature bounded forward and shoved them toward the passage, trails of bubble and froth already creeping under the door.
