“I didn’t always understand that growing up. Didn’t understand who all the women were. I’d see them for a spell and then they’d be gone… He moves through them quickly, always wanting something new.”
“Poor Dauphine.” My heart ached for her. “Do you think she knows?”
Alex’s face was grim. “I think Mother buries herself deeply in her own pursuits—socializing and shopping—to avoid thinking on it too long. But I’m sure it stings. I know it does,” he added. “So, this Constance,” he mused, then shrugged. “I’ve no idea who she is but I’ve no doubt I know exactly what kind of help she was giving him.”
I squirmed, uncertain of what to say.
“He mentioned a list,” Alex said, abruptly changing the conversation as he pushed himself over to the writing desk to reposition the statue. “What list?”
I rose to fix the drapes and offered him the slip of paper.
“Oh, Father.”
“What is it? What do they mean?”
He crumpled the list before tossing it into a refuse basket. “Only that a leopard can certainly never change its spots. He wants to add in a bouquet?” he guessed, spotting the books on my worktable. I nodded and he picked them up. “Don’t bother. This isn’t his painting.”
“Wait—” I said, grabbing at the stack. “I actually would like to look through those. The meaning in the flowers…I’d like to learn more.”
Alex relented, releasing his hold on them. “As you wish.”
I opened the first one, skimming through the pages, captivated by the botanical renderings and the lists of possible meanings each flower could impart. “Perhaps I’ll make you a bouquet later today. I could put in…” I flipped to a new page, trying to spot something appropriate. Something that would bring back his smile. “A rose.”
The skin around his eyes crinkled as he laughed. “So unimaginative!”
“It’s my first time ever trying to speak in flower!” I exclaimed, feigning indignity.
“Well, you’ll need to take care with your colors. What will you pick?”
I scanned the surprisingly long entry. “Blush, I think.” I read further. “A thornless blush rose.” I glanced up, hoping I’d selected right. It was meant to represent an early affection, earnestly held out with the hopes of reciprocation.
He considered this as he moved back to his position, ready for our session to begin. “I would be honored to receive that from you.”
I picked up my pencil and looked around the easel. “Would you send anything back?”
Alexander’s face broke into a perfect grin and I went to work, quickly capturing it on the canvas.
“Oh, Verity, you’ll have to wait and see.”
“What are we doing all the way out here?” I asked as we ventured past the gardens, following a planked walkway into Chauntilalie’s nearby forest.
Forest was perhaps too strong a word. The greenery was obviously well cared for—the brambles and vines that would normally creep and crawl with abandon along a woodland floor were manicured back, keeping the path passable for Alex’s chair. But the trees looked rough and wild, giving the illusion that we were setting off on a reckless adventure.
We took most of our lunches outdoors. Alexander liked showing off the hidden treasures of the vast estate and the picnics were a welcome diversion after our long morning sessions.
“You saw the Menagerie Wall as you came into the city?” Alex asked, the wheels of his chair rattling brightly along the boardwalk. I nodded. “Most people don’t know this, but there were a handful of statues made for the wall that were never used. They were deemed too terrifying. It’s said even the sculptors’ own children cried when they saw their parents working on them. My great-great-grandfather had them brought to Chauntilalie.”
“A reasonable course of action,” I laughed. “And you’re bringing me out to these horrific beasts for a picnic?”
“Would you rather join Mother at her society luncheon today? I’m sure we have time to turn around.” He winked up at me. “You might want to ready yourself,” he continued as the walkway curved round a bend. “They’re designed to be a bit of a surprise and the first one is rather shocking.”
Even with his warning, I was caught unprepared.
The statue was affixed to the side of a monstrous willow tree. My eyes couldn’t help but sweep upward, expecting to gaze in wonder at the soaring canopy of dangling branches.
Instead, they spotted a monster crawling headfirst down the trunk. Its neck snapped backward at an impossible angle as it studied the garden’s inhabitants. An extra-wide mouth was drawn back into a sneer and hooked fangs curled from its upper and lower jaws.
“Why would anyone make something like that?” I asked, trying to cover my gasp.
“When the Menagerie Wall was first built, Bloem was seen as a small region of very little consequence. The People of the Petals were a bit of a joke—espousing love and beauty in a time when there was so much strife in the land. The Menagerie was built to show that art could have importance, that beauty could be powerful.” He pushed himself past the willow. “Up here is one of my favorites.”
“What is it?” I asked as the lumbering giant came into view.
It wasn’t quite a bear, it wasn’t exactly a frog, but it was enormous enough to hide the rest of the garden from immediate view. Bulging eyes bugged out of a square muzzle. Its wide, stocky legs ended on webbed feet.
“I named him Brutus,” Alex said with a smile. “When I was a boy, I’d bring out stacks of stories and read aloud to him. Mother would send tea.”
I couldn’t help but smile, picturing him propped between the monster’s forelegs, clinking his cup against the beast’s strange toes. “He certainly seems a better companion than that first thing we saw. Hello, Brutus,” I called up to the statue. His quartz eyes seemed to wink back at me.
“You should have brought your sketchbook.”
“Indeed. Where should we set up?” I had the wicker basket looped over one arm. Raphael had laden it heavy with sandwiches of thickly sliced ham and salted butter, a sealed carafe of pink lemonade, and all the cups, plates, and flatware we could possibly need.
“Keep going,” Alex said, pointing to the walkway. “Behold, the Garden of Giants.”
Once we were around Brutus, I could see how big the area was. In the middle of the garden was a verdigris-choked pond. The boardwalk crossed over the dark green waters, dotted with benches to sit and stare at the creatures peeking out from under trees and behind bushes. There were a mishmash of beasts both fantastic and horrible.
“Will this do?” Alex asked, pausing next to one of the benches. A stony, misshapen head poked out from the waves, insect-like save for the very human-looking fingers grasping the lip of the boardwalk.
I hid my shudder and nodded, setting to work on unpacking the basket.
“What a beautiful afternoon,” Alex murmured appreciatively, tipping his face to the sun as a pair of black swans swam by, eyeing us with haughty disdain.
I scanned the garden, spotting a dragon onshore so covered in moss and lichens, it nearly blended into the landscape. A curved vine broke through a beast’s eye socket, creating a verdant iris. “It’s strangely perfect,” I admitted. “I’d love to sketch it all.”