“Goodbye, Silas,” she said.
Then she ran. She ran to the tunnel that led from the catacombs, back to the surface, to safety.
Before she left, she turned around once more. Silas lay by the flower pool, weeping. With a shaking hand, he took Aranyani’s fingers in his and pressed them to his lips.
Then a chunk of stone fell from the ceiling, smashing to the ground in front of her. The rest of the ceiling followed, and Silas Blackthorn was gone.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Willow trees, including numerous species from the genusSalix, are cultivated for their beauty as well as their medicinal use in the relief of pain. In floriography, willow usually meansmourning. It can also meanfreedom.
Far away, beneath the red sky of sunrise, across the moors and the mountains and the ancient wood, a woman tied a ribbon in her hair. It was not a black ribbon, not a ribbon for mourning. The ribbon was the color of evergreens—of life unending. She stood on the hill above the old church with the sea in the distance, beneath her family’s elderwood tree. A headstone stood before her, marked with a familiar name, cut fresh again:PERSEPHONE DAPHNE ELDERWOOD. BELOVED SISTER AND DAUGHTER. 1888.
Elswyth held a box in her hands. Inside were ashes. She’d collected them herself, from the ruins of the Royal Gardens. She’d walked the corridors of shattered glass and through the remains of rare flowers, ascended into ash. And she’d taken some home with her. Perhaps the ashes held some of Persephone. Perhaps they held Silas, and Aranyani, and even Dr. Gall, although no bodies were recovered from the wreckage. Perhaps she was laying them all to rest, the tangle of their lives.
Elswyth knelt and dug her hands into the earth. She pulled up the dirt, handful by handful, until a little grave sat before her.Then she placed the box inside and smoothed the dirt back over. When her hands came away, snowdrops sprouted there.
After she’d wept for the last time, she stood by the elderwood tree and looked out over the sea. Her grandmother sat next to her, in her chair.
“Elswyth?” she croaked.
“Yes, Grandmama?”
“Where is Persephone?”
Elswyth placed a hand on her grandmother’s. “She is home now. She is safe.”
Her grandmother smiled. “Good.”
Elswyth took the handles of her grandmother’s chair and turned her away from the sea, down the path.
Her grandmother mumbled as they walked. “Elswyth… a forest of souls… a prince of leaves…”
Elswyth patted the old woman’s shoulder. “Enough of that now, Grandmama. It’s time to go home.”
She wheeled her grandmother across the cemetery. Around Elswyth’s neck, the amberheart glinted in the sunshine. A faint whisper carried past her on the breeze. Behind her, white flowers washed over the hill in a wave, even to the distance, like she walked on a field of snow.
When Elswyth returned to Elderwood House, a footman took her grandmother’s chair and wheeled it away. Elswyth peeled off her gloves, and her lady’s maid removed her coat.
Mrs. Rose appeared in the hallway. She held a baby in her hands, a small, ruddy-faced boy with silvery-blond hair. He had the prince’s bright blue eyes, which stared at Elswyth with curious intensity.
Mrs. Rose beamed. “Percy has something to show you,” she said. She gave the boy a bounce, and he smiled, tucking his head into her hair. She kissed him on the cheek, and then set him on the ground, supporting him by his arms.
“Go on… go to Mama!” Mrs. Rose said.
To her surprise, Percy took a step, then another. He reached out to her, then collapsed and began to cry.
Mrs. Rose pursed her lips. “Well, two inches farther than yesterday. We’ll try again tomorrow!”
She bent down, scooped Percival up, and then handed him to Elswyth. She took him awkwardly, looking into his eyes. She hadn’t quite taken to motherhood the way she’d hoped to, but she did love the boy, in her own way. She brought him close and kissed him on the head, savoring the pure scent of his hair, so much like Persephone’s. Then she handed him back to Mrs. Rose.
“Your father has requested you,” Mrs. Rose said. “He’s in the study.”
“Right. Have tea sent up, will you? I’m famished.”
Elswyth handed her parasol and hat to the lady’s maid. Mrs. Rose turned to the girl. “You heard her—tea, sandwiches, and cakes to the study.”
The girl curtsied. “Of course, Lady Gall,” she said nervously. Then she fled.
