Page 97 of What Blooms from Death

I looked closer at the different parts of it, trying to ground myself further in the details.

Beside the bed, a nightstand carved from dark mahogany held a crystal goblet filled with fresh wildflowers. A small chandelier hung from the ceiling, its crystals sparkling, catching the sunlight slipping through the curtains and casting intricate patterns on the walls. The walls themselves were covered in silk paper in a soft, pretty shade of green. There was at least one bookshelf against each of these walls, each bursting with leather-bound tomes. In the far corner, a fireplace of shining marble reached up to the ceiling, the centerpiece of its mantle a metal shield featuring a tree with red blooms, intricate filigree around its border, and a word I couldn’t decipher curving across the bottom.

So many emblems of royalty and wealth…

All of which only served to disorient me further.

As I studied it all, a thought popped into my head before I could stop it: This scene could have been from another version of my life, if only my path had veered differently. A palace filled with light and splendor, and me waking up to the sight of Aleksander sleeping nearby…

I was staring at him again, I realized, when the white-haired woman let out the sort of softhmmmy mother used to make when she wanted to pry, but manners dictated silence.

I swallowed hard, redirecting my thoughts and keeping my voice businesslike as I asked, “He’s injured?”

“Exhaustion, mostly. We tried to take him to a room of his own to rest, but he refused.” She picked innocently at the wide sleeves of her colorfully embroidered tunic, peering at me fromunder her lashes as she said, “Hasn’t left your side since you arrived—I think he’s convinced we’re going to steal you away from him for good if he leaves us alone with you.”

I again forced down the complicated feelings I had toward the King of Light as I asked, “How long have I been asleep?”

She shrugged, as though time meant little to her. “Two days, give or take.”

I walked to the window on the other side of the room, peering through the partially-drawn curtains and into an outside world as lush and beautiful as the room I stood in. I was on the second floor, and the grass spreading out below was thick, rolling in a gentle breeze. The branches and leaves of flowering trees swayed in that same breeze, creating a swirling rain of white and pink petals.

The sky above it all was a pale, powdery blue, and there appeared to be an actualsunhanging in it—perhaps the most disorienting thing I’d seen yet.

“What is this place?” I asked, glancing back at the woman. “Are we still in the Underworld?”

“Oh, Love.” She fixed me with a look that was part pity, part concern. “I don’t think I’m the one to answer that for you—or to answeranyof the many questions I’m sure you have.” She hesitated before taking a step closer. For a moment, she looked as if she wanted to wrap her arms around me and not let go.

Instead, she clasped her hands together in front of her, anxiously rubbing and continuously readjusting her grip as she said, “But thereareanswers here, if you have the courage to go looking for them.”

The strange words rendered me speechless for a long moment.

“Rest up some more if you need to, first,” she added, forcing her hands to her sides and a kind smile back to her face. “I’llsend food and bring back something for the pain after you’ve eaten. And my name is Aveline, by the way.”

She was gone before I could find my voice.

I stared after her, thinking over all she’d said.

Courage.

It would be a while before I finished gathering that, I feared.

In the meantime, I wandered closer to Aleksander. He looked utterly spent, as Aveline had suggested; he hadn’t stirred an inch during my entire conversation with her.

There was an empty vial on the small table beside the window seat. Something he’d taken to help him sleep? He was shirtless, his arms and a section of his abdomen wrapped in bandages. Minor injuries, from the looks of it—but none of this was what caught my eye.

It was the evidence of past injuries that had me drawing toward him for a better look.

There were faded scars covering his chest, shining faintly in the muted light passing through the curtains. I couldn’t tell what had made them, but it had been something wicked and wielded by a purposeful hand, judging by the precise pattern and the depth of each mark. I carefully felt my way around to his back, and my fingers quickly found evidence of more scars between his shoulder blades. These felt deeper, and perhaps more erratic than the ones on his chest. Perhaps more…violent.

Who had done this?

And why?

A rush of anger and sadness washed over me, leaving me feeling unbearably heavy. I settled down beside him, trying to focus on his face instead of his scars.

He looked so different while he was sleeping soundly like this, his features relaxed, free of their usual tension. His dimples were more prominent, for one thing—a feature I’d rarely gotten to witness during this latest reunion of ours, as he’d spentso much of the last few days scowling at me, or otherwise disapproving of thechaosI’d brought him.

Sighing, I tentatively pressed the back of my hand against his cheek. When he didn’t wake, my touch trailed higher, my fingers weaving through the pale waves of his hair.

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