Page 198 of Immortal Rose

“You recognize me,” Mrs. Keyes said quietly.

Vernon swallowed. Nodded.

A stark pain tightened her expression. “You were one of the children he would bring here from time to time, to be cleaned and fed.”

Vernon could only nod again.

Mrs. Keyes’s posture was terrifyingly rigid as the full weight of the deception bore down on her. “He told us he would find work for you all. He never gave us reason to believe otherwise. I am very sorry, and I would like to help you, as I said.”

“Where would he go?” I asked.

“An academy for orphaned girls, in Caledonia,” Mrs. Keyes said. “Girls with unusual stories. They are always in need of staff, and it is quite picturesque, though I cannot recommend swimming in the loch. It is freezing, even at the height of summer.”

I’d read a story once, about a man who could charm snakes with his instrument, drawing them into a mesmerized dance with nothing but a song and the fluid movement of his hands.

Mrs. Keyes’s words seemed to have a similar soothing effect, luring Vernon out from behind me. He swept his hand over his face, settling himself as he’d no doubt been called to do time and time again, from too young of an age.

“Come now,” Mrs. Keyes said, her hawk eyes softening. “I’ll tell you more of it as we prepare you for the journey north.”

She took his arm then, supporting his first few unsteady steps. Before they entered the kitchen, Mrs. Keyes met my gaze in a long, pained look.

They hadn’t known, either. Of course not. And knowing now . . . I couldn’t begin to imagine what it might do to them. What it would do to Hugh, who’d molded himself after the man who had raised him. Who had saved him, even as he had destroyed the lives of other children.

I pressed a hand to my mouth, stifling a scream.

This is what I stood to inherit with the House of Rosebourne. This hideous truth and countless others that remained buried. Rosebourne had built his empire on suffering, shrouded in a veil of beautiful perfume. It did not deserve to carry on. Let it die, like the monster who had built it.

The King had already taken too much, quilting the youth and vigor of innocents onto his life to unnaturally extend it. I would not throw that man another line to save him from death.

Vernon’s pained words haunted me. I simply do not have anywhere to go.

I had a place here, didn’t I? The house, with all its florals and pastels, felt like the worst sort of disguise to me, as if the last Foxcourt had tried to paper over the shameful rot at its heart.

Its ghosts hovered around me now, as silent as secrets. They were traces of the lives, of the emotions, of the ancient family line that had walked its halls. All the pain, joy, excitement, frustration, and shame.

And from the landing of the stairs, the spymaster watched as I made my choice.

Chapter Forty-One

This was the truth of fairyborn magic, the one that allowed so many of us to hide in plain sight: even as it’s drawn upon, it cannot be perceived. There are no wisps of smoke, no glimmers of light at our fingertips. Any onlooker might mistake it for a moment of quiet introspection. A summoning of will.

It is secret and sacred—a journey through the layers of ourselves, the way our fairy ancestors once descended through the mounds to their realm. One that can only be taken alone.

That meeting place appeared differently to everyone, a gift that was uniquely their own. Mama once described hers as a single pale crystal glowing in the woods.

Within me, it was a garden.

Alone in the still room, I placed an empty flacon before me and carefully portioned out the beginnings of Immortal Rose I had already blended to account for how little nectar I had. The perfume’s scent curled around me. After adding a drop of the blood Mrs. Keyes had collected from Hugh, I held that flacon in one hand and the bottle of the nectar in the other and closed my eyes.

In that stillness, I drew out the seed of shimmering gold from my heart, imagining it flowing through my body with twining roots. In the darkness behind my eyelids, with no sight to interfere, the floral notes of Immortal Rose sharpened, became greener, like the memory of their earliest life, when they’d first pushed through the garden’s soil.

Then, as if I had dreamt them into being, they were before me, a vision of a vast, lush garden that spread out as far as the eye could see in every direction. Blankets of pink, blue, red, and purple blooms swayed in some phantom breeze. The sight of them allowed me to step out of that fear I’d felt, the horror, and into something pure, and mine.

I had escaped here so many times as a child, not knowing what it was, only seeking a safe place to hide from the pain of beatings. Even now, it had the power to soothe me.

I took a step forward and was rewarded with the release of the warm, sparkling flutter in my chest. The sky was crystal clear, the color of the finest aquamarine. Here, it was always day. There were no shadows.

Flowers and herbs sprung from the soil as I continued down the path, as if eager to follow me to the soul of the garden. Jasmine bloomed on ancient stone walls, and here and there, the lilies turned their faces toward me, encouraging. I felt Mama walking beside me as surely as I felt my own heartbeat.