“I imagine it must be like when you finish a painting. You started with a blank canvas and then—behold! Art! It does rather make one feel a bit like a god, doesn’t it?”
I tried to mask my face into a look of indifference. I’d never met anyone who spoke so casually about the gods and it gave me an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. “I suppose it does. A little. Maybe.”
He raised his glass again. “To achieving godhood!”
His boisterous irreverence drew a smile to my lips but I was not daring enough to repeat it myself. When I clinked my glass against his, the last of his champagne sloshed out, and I could feel our evening wind to a close.
“What will you call this one?” I asked, drawing my attention back to the flower for one last glimpse.
He set the coupe down, leveling an unsteady eye toward it. “Callistephus constancensia.”
“Beautiful.”
He nodded. “It’s only right. She’s helped so much with this.”
“Dauphine?” I guessed, wondering why she hadn’t joined us, especially knowing how long Gerard had worked on the blossoms. Dinner must have been over by now. There were no clocks to confirm it but it felt close to midnight.
“Constance,” he corrected without explanation. “I suppose it’s getting rather late…and you’ve already had a full day’s work.” Gerard glanced up through the condensation-slick windows above us. “A full moon tonight.” He chewed on the corner of his lip, mulling over something. “Would you be interested in seeing one last spectacle before you retire?”
Curiosity pushed aside any weariness I’d felt. “A spectacle?”
He nodded once more. “I promise you there’s absolutely nothing like this at Highmoor. Come on. Follow me.”
* * *
Out in the garden of Chauntilalie, dozens of eyes glowed at us, blinking realistically as the flowers swayed in the soft evening breeze.
“Black wraiths,” Gerard said, pointing toward the patch in case I’d somehow missed them. “They bloom at night, only under the strongest moonbeams.”
Squinting, I could just make out their shape, swooping petals that looked drawn by a childish hand. They were so dark blue, they blended into the night, leaving their white ringed center on full and horrible display.
“We used to have an old horned owl that lived somewhere near here. A giant beast, wingspan longer than my arms. It was incredible to see but the brute kept destroying my flowerbeds. He’d scoop up great clumps of earth in his talons every time he dove after an unsuspecting vole and rip out the marigolds I’d spent seasons cultivating. I planted these along his favorite haunts and he’s never bothered us again.”
“They’re terrifying,” I said, stooping down to get a better glimpse. “I would never have guessed them flowers. They look more like—”
“Demons,” Gerard filled in. “I got the seeds from a traveler who claimed they’d been secreted out of the Sanctum. Can you imagine what sort of things grow in the land of the gods?”
I shook my head even as I glanced about the garden, morphing the darkened shapes into more fantastical forms, things that grew too big, too fast, too everything for our world.
“What wonders I could create…what dazzling marvels…”
“Do you really think you could transform the gods’ gardens into something better?” I wanted to keep my voice as light and witty as Gerard’s but his easy impertinence left me with a dark, squirming sense of discontent.
“My dear Verity, I don’t think,” he said with an impish wink. “I know.”
“Don’t you ever worry Seland might overhear all this and decide to come after you?” I pictured the god of earth stomping about through Gerard’s gardens, plucking him into the air as a farmer would harvest carrots. “He made the flowers and trees a certain way for a reason.”
“Yes, but they were his reasons. He made our world for himself but then retreated into another. He’s not been seen in a millennia, even on his holiest of feast days. He left all this a particular way but I dare to imagine it better. I am like a god watching over this estate, crafting and creating it for my needs. My desires.” He ran his fingers through his hair, mussing the pomade’s hold, as he surveyed his domain. His lips curled, pleased with what he saw, and I tried not to shiver. “But come, come. Dauphine will have my head if I keep you out too late. There’s a shortcut this way…”
He led me to a little path on the back end of the garden.
“We cut across here and…” He glanced back, sensing I wasn’t beside him. His gaze followed mine. “Oh, yes, of course.”
A cluster of tombstones had stopped me in my tracks. They’d been nestled under the sweeping branches of a willow tree, like chicks tucked under their mother’s wings. The quartz headers sparkled in the moonlight, glowing an otherworldly white.
The spacing was wrong, too close together, too close to the house. “Are those…pets?”
He sucked in his lower lip. “Those are…well…those are my children.”
My heart stopped, flooding with embarrassment. I’d clearly misunderstood Alex’s conversation earlier. Dauphine must have tried for more children, so many times. I took a step toward him, fumbling to repair any damage my mistake had caused. “I’m so sorry for…so many losses,” I murmured, counting the small stones, nine in total.
He shook his head as if the sight no longer bothered him. “They weren’t…They just weren’t meant to be.”
Together, we stared at the little markers and my heart ached for him. I’d never met anyone so determined on fixing and improving the world around him, but some things were beyond even Gerard Laurent’s grasp.
“It’s growing late,” he murmured after an appropriate moment of silence. “We really should be going.”
“Thank you for showing me the wraiths,” I said once we were back inside, in the now-too-bright gaslights. I blinked hard against their glare, swirls of color spotting my vision. “And the Calli…Calla…the Constance.”
He stiffened, glancing about as if worried we might be overheard. “I don’t…upon further reflection, I’m not sure that’s entirely the right name for them. I shall have to ponder that a bit more. This way,” he said, and pressed a bit of floral molding along the hallway’s wainscoting.
A section of the wall swung open, revealing a narrow staircase.
“A secret passage!” I exclaimed.
Gerard shook his head. “That makes it sound far more mysterious than it is. When my ancestors built Chauntilalie, they didn’t want to see any traces of the staff needed to manage such a large estate. All of the servants’ staircases were hidden away, to not disrupt the beauty of the house.”
“Oh.” My voice was colored with disappointment. Such a prosaic explanation.
“Careful on the treads. They’re quite a steep,” he said, ducking in first. “I’ve greatly appreciated your assistance,” he mentioned over his shoulder as we twisted up the spiral staircase. His words echoed against the stone walls. “It will be quite useful to have so many images for reference later. It was quite enjoyable working with you. I hope that one day…perhaps Alexander will find a bride with your talent and mind.”