Page 19 of Where Shadows Bloom

“Lope,” I said in a hallowed whisper, “it looks like a dream.”

She made a little murmur of agreement, the same sound she’d make when it was late at night and I had chatted her ear off, even while she was half asleep.

“Describe it to me,” she said from the bed, her words drawn out and slow.

I was no poet. Not compared to her. I knew myself well enough to take pride in my storytelling, the way I could unfold a tale in delicious, captivating ways. The words themselves, though? Lope was the true master there. When I gave her a book to keep, I’d even see her taking notes inside it, circling individual words, like little gems to collect.

And—my heart stuttered—if I was right, what pretty words she’d chosen for me in her journal.

I cleared my throat and focused on the gardens beyond. The sweet perfume of flowers wafted inside, and faintly, I could hear robins greeting one another. “There are so many flowers. Like a meadow. Petunias, I think,” I said. “They’re all matted together, almost like they’re forming a great quilt made of petals. What a lovely bed that’d be. How soft it would feel.”

The exhaustion and the fear that had coiled up in my body seemed to pull at me as I described what I could see of the garden, reminding me that I, too, was overdue for rest. I yawned and turned back to her—as I’d hoped, she was already fast asleep, with one hand in a loose fist against her heart.

It was so plain to me now. How beautiful she was... and how my heart longed for her.

I curled up in the far corner of the room, watching her and counting her every breath. My stomach ached, and Isuddenly, desperately missed my mother. I wanted to ask her,Is this what love feels like?I wanted to hug her tight and to ask her what she’d do in my place. I wanted to assure her that I was well and safe. I just wanted to be in her arms again, swept away from darkness like she’d always kept me.

The anxious thoughts rang in my head, echoing like lightning and thunder—a bright, sharp pang of concern for Lope, her weakened state, and her tender heart. Then the worries, rumbling inside me,Is Mother in this palace? Is she hurt? Is she even alive?

My worries swirled around and around like Mother mixing linseed oil and pigment. The smell of her studio, sweetened with flowers, soured by oils. The graceful movement of her palette knife arcing across the canvas. The soft tap of her brush against her palette. Exhaustion and memory finally swept me away, making the world grow dark.

Someone knocked at a distant door.

I lurched awake, alarmed by my hard pillow, by the ache in my neck, by the fact I was sleeping on a chair—but felt a measure of steadiness again when I saw Lope already on her feet, facing away from me. A woman about my mother’s age stood in the doorway. She wore a deep gray gown with an apron about her waist. In her chapped hands was a large ring of keys.

“Where’s my sword?” Lope hissed at the lady.

She frowned at Lope and then at me. “Every courtier’s weapons are confiscated upon entry to Le Château,” she said. She curtsied to each of us. “The day’s fête begins in a few short hours. As residents here, it is mandatory that everyone attend.”

Though my heart thrilled at the thought of a party, arealone here at Le Château Enchanté, my body and my spinning head protested the idea of any sudden movement. But I clung to another word:everyone.

My mother would be there.

“I’ve come here looking for someone,” I told the maid. “My mother, la Condesa Mirabelle de Bouchillon? Will she be there?”

Behind her eyes, I could detect a flicker of annoyance. “My lady, there are hundreds of nobles in this palace. I could not account for each one. But if she is at this palace, she will be at the fête tonight.”

I glanced back at Lope, at the dark rings under her eyes, at the red cut along her face, at the way her shoulders slouched.

“We—we have traveled quite a long way,” I told the woman. “My friend is recovering from... our journey. Perhaps she could stay here while I—”

“I’ll come with you,” said Lope.

I twisted the fabric of my skirts in my fists. “You don’t need to—”

“Yes, I do.” She stood at my side, and her presence alone made my heartbeat settle and then quicken again.

The maid smiled stiffly at us both. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you both to your chambers. We’ll get you looking your best for the party.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I thought... I thought thiswasour chamber.”

She guffawed loudly and then covered her mouth with her hand. The maid cleared her throat to try to tamp down the offense. “No, my lady, this is just a place for footmen to clean their boots and get new cloaks.” She tipped her head toward the hallway. “Come, come.”

Lope picked up her cloak and slung the bag over her shoulder with a stormy look. Her gaze softened when it fell upon me. Her skin was clean of all the blood from before, leaving only the deep cut from the Shadows tracing down her left profile.

Now that I’d read her poems, now that I understood my own feelings, every time I looked at her, I saw someone a little different from who I once imagined. It was like her secret was painted across her face, and I had to pretend I couldn’t see it.

If I said anything, I’d only shred this beautiful, golden veil between us, this peace and trust and love that was so precious.

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