And now it looks like it might be close to noon. The sun through my window is warm for this time of year, and the sounds of the Grace District babble below. Errand boys call back and forth. Carriages rattle along the cobblestones. But if it’s so late, why hasn’t my schedule appeared? I throw myself out of bed as quickly as my body will let me, tug on a fresh dress, and splash some water on my face. It’s nowhere near the level of grooming I need to cover what happened last night.
“Here she is.” A grating voice intercepts me at the top of the stairs. Marigold scowls at me from the lower landing. “What were you doing last night?”
My hand flies to the railing before I topple over it. Did I sweep up the ash from the diagram? Had I left the Nightseeker book out? My head is still too fuzzy to remember.
“Why did no one wake me?”
“Mistress had to cancel your patron appointments because of the intolerable reek from your chambers.” As if to illustrate, Marigold lifts a silk sachet dangling from the butterscotch sash of her gown and presses it into her nose.
“The…” I breathe in deeply. There it is. The awful stench from whatever the ritual did with the deathknot. I must have inhaled so much last night that I’m immune to it.
“We’ve barely been able to keep it out of the parlors. And you’re lucky the food in the kitchen wasn’t tainted.” She leans forward and sniffs. “Ugh! And you smell even worse.”
I’m so relieved I sink onto the stairsteps, leaning against the vined carvings on the railing slats. The tip of a wooden leaf pokes into my forehead.
“Tell her how terrible she smells, Rose.” Marigold flaps her handkerchief in my direction as the sound of slippered footsteps nears. “Simply awful. The stench will never leave us.”
Not a muscle of Rose’s face moves. She picks at a starfish-shaped brooch pinned to her bodice. The citrine gems gleam in the shafts of sunlight flooding the entry hall. And I notice something else, too. The sallowness of Rose’s skin. Her cheeks are gold, but only because of an artificial rouge. Her eyes are sunken and dulled, a result of the bloodrot. Apprehension twinges in my chest, wondering how much she’s taking and how often.
As if reading the assessment in my gaze, she narrows hers. “Malyce smells no different than usual.” And then she melts away.
“Alyce, what in Briar!” Mistress Lavender pushes through the vacancy Rose left. “I’ve had servants scrubbing your parlor all morning, but still we cannot rid ourselves of this blight.”
I stand up again, trying to keep my guilt from showing. I’d put everything away. Positioned things so that it looks like my stores are full. Though I’ll probably have to use my own coin to replace most of what’s lost.
“I— I was experimenting with a new elixir.” I keep my tone even. “One of the enhancements reacted badly.” That part isn’t even a lie.
“I should think so.” Mistress Lavender waves her own sachet beneath her nose, eliciting a smirk from Marigold. “Needless to say, you won’t have any patrons today. We’ll keep some cleansing herbs burning in your hearth. Delphine will reschedule everyone for tomorrow. And I’m sorry to do it, but if any of them cancel, the coin for their appointment will come out of your earnings. I’ll not have the house suffer for your foolishness.”
Marigold looks like she might burst into flame with glee.
“I understand.” I incline my head even as the punishment stings. Given that my patrons will traipse all the way to Lavender House to learn that I’m unavailable, it’s highly likely they’ll decide the errand isn’t worth repeating. But I remind myself that I could be facing far worse than lost coin.
Mistress Lavender mutters a few more things to herself, then steers Marigold away, ranting off a list of tasks that need to be done.
“You do reek.” Laurel glides out of her parlor and I jump. How long had she been listening?
“I think we’ve covered that.” I roll my eyes and start back up the stairs.
“Not of whatever nonsense you just lied about.”
My heart kicks. “What are you talking about? I used—”
Laurel waves away my words. “Keep your secrets. You have little else of your own.”
Her answer surprises me, as did the dress and the mask she left for me what seems a lifetime ago. But I still do not trust her fully. She is a Grace.
“You smell of old books. You have for a while now.”
I almost laugh. Leave it to Laurel to detect such a scent.