Page 46 of Court of Shadows
“I should start my day,” I said as I left, feeling petty and triumphant that I had left behind a small mess to clean up.
“I dare say,” she drawled, her shoulders bunched up in irritation. “Enjoy it while it lasts, girl.”
Enjoywas a strong word, but I did intend to make the most of my short freedom. I had so far avoided my father, but the confrontation could no longer be avoided.
I planted myself in the west salon next to the foyer. It was commonly used for reading or taking tea in the afternoons, and it was only a matter of time before Croydon Frost found me there. Poppy mentioned over supper that he had spent mostof the day there writing letters and perusing a book of poetry. While I waited near the windows, I watched the clouds pass low over the forest. The little path leading to the spring was always dark, like the crack in a cliff wall only into deep shadow. I usually avoided the spring, as guests liked to congregate there, and now I felt even less inclined to visit. The Residents were indeed flitting among the trees, and I watched them weave silently on their patrols, hunting for the creature prowling unseen.
There was a hot, building pressure in my forehead, and I recognized it for what it was—the strain of too many questions and an aching dread. Sailors often complained of pains before a storm, and this was no different—something horrible waited on the horizon, I could feel it, but I was powerless against our inexorable slide toward calamity. I did not believe Mr. Morningside’s trial would go as flawlessly as he anticipated, and I did not believe Mary had killed Amelia. A storm was gathering above us, and nobody but me seemed to notice the building, angry clouds.
“It’s an extremely finicky process, enfleurage....”
I pulled away from the window, turning to find Croydon Frost picking his way across the carpets toward me. He was dressed as exquisitely as Mr. Morningside, making no attempt to hide his wealth, with a well-cut deep emerald suit in velvet, and glossy riding boots. His puffy silk cravat was patterned with moss-green roses.
“You are attempting to preserve delicate things, re-createsomething ephemeral and vanishing. The tallow must be imbued with a flower’s life over and over again, the fat hungry for the fragrance, not sated until it has devoured dozens, sometimes hundreds of blossoms.” He paused halfway across the room from me and pulled a small glass vial from his pocket. Holding it up, the crystalline bottle shimmered in the sunlight. Something moved along his shoulders, bright and strange, but I could not tell what it was until he shifted closer.
“And then, when the fat has had its fill, we come to this.” He opened the cork on the vial and approached, handing the tiny bottle of perfume to me. Even before it reached my hand I could smell the indelible, light beauty of lilacs. It was almost otherworldly, how perfectly he had captured the essence of the flower. My eyes fluttered shut, and I held the bottle just under my nose, breathing in pure summer.
“A gift,” he said softly. “A woman is not fully dressed until she has herparfum.”
I opened my eyes and stared down at the bottle. No wonder this had made him rich. I wondered how much this little vial would fetch, and slipped it into my apron pocket next to the bent spoon.
“Thank you,” I said. “It was very— OhGod, what is that?”
The thing on his shoulder skittered around from behind his neck to the arm nearest me. It was a spider, a huge, hairy spider the size of a bird, brilliant purple and pink, as if dyed to match some garish ball gown, and a small chain like a leash wassecured around its middle. It was, quite frankly, the creepiest personal effect I could imagine. Carrying a bloody great spider on a chain everywhere? Was I really related to this person?
I recoiled, backing into the window and holding the curtain in front of me.
“Oh, this?” Croydon Frost laughed, urging the creature down his forearm to his palm, where it seemed to regard me with its many eyes, one fragile furry leg in the air swaying. “She’s quite harmless, I promise, just a stunning creature I found on my travels.”
“It doesn’t look harmless,” I murmured, cowering.
“Do you think I would let her crawl all over me if she were prone to biting?” He grinned and held her out closer to me. “Go on, it’s not like the fur of a cat. It’s completely unique.”
I had no desire to touch it, but seeing it in greater detail was morbidly fascinating—it had a spiral pattern on its back and I could not believe how bright and pretty its pink and purple stripes looked in the sunlight. Carefully, I reached a finger out and stroked one of its furry legs.
“Ouch!” I snatched my hand back in horror. “It bit me!”
“My apologies.” He stumbled away, shielding me from the spider with his other hand. “She’s never... That’s not like her.”
It felt like a bee’s sting, and my finger immediately became red and swollen where the creature lashed out.
“Is it poisonous? Oh Lord, am I going to die?” I felt immediately sweaty, cradling my hand defensively to my chest. Howperfect. Closing my eyes against the pain, I went rigid, listening as the woman’s voice I had been hearing drifted toward me again, soft, like music from a neighboring room.
Run, child. Run, the slumber is ended.
“No, no, be calm, they’re not poisonous, you should be just fine once the swelling goes down,” Croydon explained. I almost didn’t hear him, focusing completely on the voice that came not from without but from within. Who was she? Why did I keep hearing her words of warning? She had been right last time, and I took a small step back from Croydon.
He sighed and shooed the spider back up his arm, where it seemed to watch me, peering around his neck, little black eyes glittering with interest. Or hunger. Maybe I had proved a tasty bite.
“And here I had hoped to win you over.” He strode to the windows to my right, placing his hands on his hips and surveying the lawn.
“Resist the urge to bring a spider next time,” I muttered.
“At least we know I’m a spectacular failure in all things,” Croydon joked, but he sounded genuinely miserable. “Consistency is important.”
“Don’t expect me to feel sorry for you. Nobody made you fail me and Mum, you did that all on your own.” I glared down at my wound, wondering if it would scar as badly as the marks left behind by the book. He said nothing, but I felt him gazing at me with desperate eyes. Forgiveness. That’s what he wanted,what everyone wanted, but I had no intention of giving it to him. “Seventeen years of neglect is not rectified with a perfume bottle.” I marched over to him, fishing the vial out of my apron pocket and thrusting it forward. “You can have this back. I don’t want to be bribed, I just want you to answer my questions.”
“And money, I expect you want my money, too.” He sounded colder now, angry. His black eyes narrowed as he looked down his beak of a nose at me. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re my daughter—you have my eyes, you have my curse, you will also have my vices.”
