“What?”
“She’d probably die of mortification if I told you, but…” He lowered his voice. “She’s actually a descendant of Arina.”
My eyebrows rose. “Truly?”
Annaleigh’s husband, Cassius, was half immortal himself—the son of the night goddess, Versia—but it wasn’t something he liked discussing much. Many people were wary of anyone with that touch of divinity, of what powers they might possess. Most were wholly average, without a trace of anything special marking them, but there were enough stories of others, others with such extraordinary endowments, that a stigma was formed.
Alex bit his lip, nervous he’d said too much. “Her mother…it was suggested she might have had an affair with one of Arina’s sons but tried to pass off Dauphine as her husband’s.”
“Did it work?”
His dimples winked. “The rumors still persist… What do you think?”
We shared a smile and I started in on another rendering.
“She left, you know,” he mentioned carefully. “Grandmère. This morning.”
“Left?” I echoed in alarm. “Why?”
Alex’s eyes slipped away from mine like oil against water. “To get away from ‘that cursed Thaumas girl.’？”
My cheeks heated, shocked my presence had such an impact on the older woman. I chewed on the inside of my cheek, hesitating over my next words. “Perhaps if she feels so strongly…I’m sure your mother could find another painter… I could…I could leave today if…”
I stopped short.
Leave and go where?
Not back to Highmoor.
Not back to Camille.
I wouldn’t put it past her to have an array of ships outside Salten’s harbor, ready to send my little skiff all the way back to the mainland to make her point, and her anger, known.
“Oh, no,” Alex said quickly. “Certainly no. Grandmère has a flair for the dramatic. I’m sure she’s trying to punish Mother for…” He shrugged. “Something, undoubtedly.”
“But to leave the house…”
“She’s not wandering the streets of Bloem, I promise you,” he said with a wry smile. “We have several other smaller estates throughout the country. A little lakeside cottage in Forestia. An apartment in the capital. Marchioly House, of course.”
“Marchioly House.” I said the name slowly, tasting it.
He nodded. “Marchioly is our winter house, though Mother and Father haven’t used it in years. Not since…” He glanced down at his legs meaningfully. “My grandfather had it built shortly after he became duke. He couldn’t bear to see Chauntilalie in the winter, with all the plants dead or sleeping till spring. It doesn’t seem to bother Father as much, not with his greenhouse.”
My stomach felt as though I was precariously balanced on a tightrope. One wrong move could have me topple off and fall to my demise. “So…she’s at Marchioly House, you think?”
He shook his head. “Far too long a trip for Grandmère. She probably went to the capital. Visiting old friends at court, trying out new restaurants. You know.”
I sat back, unsure if it was worth finishing the sketch I’d started.
“Don’t let it trouble you for a moment. Mother wants you here. I…I want you here.” Alex offered out a soft smile of reassurance.
My lips rose, feeling too tight and thin. I returned to the sketch, tracing out lines across the page with half-hearted effort.
“Reading,” Alex said suddenly, breaking the uneasy silence that had settled over us. “You asked what I’d be doing right now if you weren’t here. I…I like to read. By the lake if the weather is nice. Or, there’s a little room on the second floor with big windows overlooking the gardens. If it’s a stormy day, I take my book there. I like to see the lightning dance in the sky, feel the thunder shake the glass.”
“Reading.”
I could picture the scene in my head easily, see the towering stack of books beside him, hear the turning pages, smell the ozone and ink. It fit him well. He looked comfortable, happy.
Alex nodded fervently, the previous conversation forgotten. “So much of the world outside these walls was simply not built for me, for this chair, for…all of it… But with books, I can go anywhere, readily and unencumbered. I can stroll down the streets of Arcannus, solve a murder in Pelage, even see what your little islands are like.”
As he spoke, a spark of passion lit his face and I hurried to sketch what that looked like, merging it with my vision. “Where’s your favorite spot by the lake?” I asked, feeling inspired.
Alexander tilted his head in thoughtful deliberation. “There’s a grove of trees—”
“Stop!” I pushed my easel to the side as I stood. “Don’t tell me. Show me.”
* * *
“Oh my…，” I murmured, looking up.
Alex’s favorite trees towered above us, bending their thin branches down in a shower of bright pink blossoms and tiny green leaves. Sunlight filtered through them, creating a dazzling effect of dappled shadows and bursts of blinding white. Beyond the grove, an enormous lake spread before us. Its gray waters ran deep and little whitecaps skirted across the surface.
“It’s a weeping redbud,” Alexander explained, patting a papery white trunk as though they were old friends. “These are some of the only specimens in the whole of Arcannia.”
“Did the others…die?” I reached out to touch the flowers dancing around us. Their centers were a lovely shade of red, like little hearts tucked away within the showy blooms.
“No, Father only created so many.”
“He grew them?”
“Grafted,” he corrected. “That’s what he does. He’s a botanist. He experiments with strains of flowers, crossbreeding and creating hybrids, but when he was younger, he loved working with trees. He made these five and even sent one to King Alderon. I’ve heard it’s still blooming somewhere on the palace grounds.”
“They’re incredible.” A breeze blew past, setting the branches into motion and filling the air with a light floral sweetness. “I can see why this is your favorite spot.”
“I like to watch the water,” he said, turning his attention to the lake. “It’s so mercurial—yesterday it looked nearly turquoise and was almost as still as a pond, without a hint of waves. Then today…” He gestured toward the choppiness. “Well, you would know all about that.”
I spread out the quilt Alexander had found us, positioning it directly beneath the tallest of the trees. He pushed down two levers against the wheels of his chair to keep them from moving as his valet, Frederick, stepped forward to help assist him from the chair.
Dauphine had not been joking. The man was the tallest I’d ever seen, a veritable giant and so very strong. He scooped Alexander up, as though he were no more than a child, before setting him onto the blanket. Frederick fussed over his legs for a moment, arranging Alex into a comfortable position, and a second servant was there with pillows for him to recline on.
“Thank you, Frederick, Johann,” Alexander said, nodding to them as they retreated. “They’ll stay nearby, in case they’re needed,” he explained, glancing back at me. “So what are we doing out here exactly?”