Chapter 35

After a hasty stop by my room to ensure the ghosts were still warded away in the closet—they were, but I added a generous handful to the line of salt from the serving dish Aloysius must have left me—I arrived at Bellatrice'ssuite.

The door was slightly ajar but I tapped at it anyway, waiting to be admitted. There was a soft, distracted call and I went in, marveling at the room's high ceilings, the swags of satin rosettes, and the veritable treasure of gilt furniture and objets d'art.

An irritable sigh came from the far side of the room, where the princess was seated, facing her vanity. Its surface was littered with pots of lip stain, powders, brushes, discarded hairpins and ribbons, and more perfume atomizers than I could count.

She was dressed in a ball gown, a shimmering, spangled confection with skirts so full they showered over her chair's arms, piles of fabric pooling on the floor. She reminded me of a bouquet of alliums, spiky bursts of lilac and raspberry hues.

"Phemie, I've already read you seven stories tonight. I need to get ready for the— Oh," Bellatrice said, catching sight of me in the mirror. "It's you."

"Princess," I greeted her, bobbing into a brief curtsy.

"What do you want?"

"I was hoping to ask you a few questions." I took a tentative step toward a set of cream-colored bergère chairs situated near a marble fireplace. I noted curiously that no one had come to light an evening blaze for the princess.

Bellatrice caught me staring and sighed once more. "If you must. But don't make yourself too comfortable. I'm leaving soon."

She turned back to the mirror and I noticed that the back of her dress was entirely see-through—nothing but a skim of flesh-toned tulle, save for a row of silk-covered buttons going down her spine like candy-colored vertebrae.

"So late?"

My eyes darted to the set of tall windows lining one wall. The sky had deepened from twilight's lavender to the dark bruise of evening.

Bellatrice, who had returned to her primping, paused on the verge of wiping a smear of color across her mouth. The stain made her fingertip look as though it were bleeding. "Is that the question you wanted to ask me?"

"No! No, I came to see about…I wanted to know more about…"

She dabbed the red on her lips, looking amused. "Do I really make you so nervous?"

"A bit," I admitted, folding my hands in my lap.

Her laughter was as delicate as blown glass. "Would it help to set your mind at ease if you knew I admire that honesty?" One corner of Bellatrice's lips rose in a wry smile. "You'll find it's an unusual trait to possess at court."

I almost laughed myself. "So I'm beginning to gather…. I wanted to ask you about one of your maids—Delia?"

Her expression soured. "What of her? She's not back at court now, is she? I won't have her waiting on me, not again, and if Aloysius and I must have words over the matter, then so be—"

"She's not," I hurried to explain. "Was there…is there something wrong with her?"

Bellatrice picked up a jar of kohl and began smudging the dark powder over her already-dark eyebrows. "Where should we begin? She's lazy," she started, ticking off the offense on a blackened finger. "And incompetent. And worst of all—a thief." She dropped the pot back to the vanity, case made.

I looked around the chamber. Trinkets lay on most surfaces, glittering and beguiling, and though stealing wasn't right, I could understand a young girl's temptation.

"Things were forever going missing when that urchin was around. On her last day, I caught her pocketing a bottle of perfume. One of the other maids tried to deny Delia had done it, so I wrested it away from her as proof. It was awful. She went into some sort of fit, screaming and jerking, and the vial shattered. The perfume went everywhere. It splashed across my best dress, and the scent…you can't even imagine." Bellatrice shuddered, then slipped a small rose-colored flask from a hidden drawer and took a long swig. "I can smell it even now. Can't you?"

I took a deep breath. There was a delicate sweetness in the air.

"Do you want any?" she went on, offering the spirits.

"No, thank you. When the bottle broke, do you remember if any of the perfume fell on Delia?"

"Of course. We were drenched in it. Adelaide was too."

"Who?"

"My very dear friend Adelaide." She made a face. "Well. Friend is a strong word. Acquaintance, I suppose. She's a courtier, and they're all such sycophants you never really get to know the true side of any of them. And so you, in turn, never show them yourself either," she mused. "Anyway. She's the one throwing the soiree tonight. The one I'm terribly late to," she added pointedly.

"Have you replaced the perfume yet?" I glanced at the vanity's glass trinkets and atomizers.

"Of course not. Mother gave it to me on my sixteenth birthday…. They probably haven't made it in years." She looked wistfully at her collection of scents. "I don't even remember its name now. And she's not here to tell me." She took another sip from the flask. Then another.

"I'm so sorry, Bella—" Her eyes flashed sharply; evidently she was irritated by my slip into casual familiarity. "Your Highness. Do you at least remember what it looked like? The bottle, I mean."

Bellatrice slouched against the back of her chair, her eyes growing glassy and distant, and I wondered what exactly it was she'd been drinking. "It was a heart. Cut from crystal and faceted. Mother told me it was made of diamond, and for a time, I stupidly believed her. She said I was her little diamond, her special jewel. Prized above my brother and sister because I was hers and hers alone." She threw out this sentiment with a mincing tone, but underneath her brittle irreverence, I could see how much her mother's words had meant to her.

"That's such peculiar phrasing," I said gently, wondering if any of the Marnaigne children had ever had the space to openly discuss their loss. "What does it mean?"

"I've never been my father's daughter, not truly. I was always only hers."

My eyebrows jumped; I couldn't help it. "You're not King Marnaigne's daughter?"

She blinked the hazy fog from her green eyes, looking confused. "What an absurd comment. Of course I am! I only meant…" She flitted her hand as though I'd been entirely to blame for the misunderstanding. "Are you done with this ridiculous interrogation? I'm already late for Adelaide's party."

"I just have one more question. Do you remember anything else about the perfume? What notes it had? I smell vanilla…and something floral, maybe?"

I took a deep breath, then choked as Bellatrice hit me with a well-aimed squirt from a sparkling, tasseled atomizer. My eyes stung and she tittered.

"All of my perfumes have peony in them. Every girl needs a signature scent. Why?"

"Delia was sick with the Shivers that day. Her whole family was, but she was the only one to recover, to survive. I think there was something in the perfume that helped her get well. I need to know what was in it."

"You think if you sprayed Papa with this miracle perfume, he would get well?"

I thought of the black skull resting over his face. "I…I don't want to make any promises, but possibly."

Bellatrice was quiet for a very long moment, considering my request. "The dress I wore that day is in my armoire."

I sat up straighter. "And you haven't washed it?"

She shook her head. "No, it was already ruined—good silk can't get wet—but I didn't want to get rid of it. It was a present from Mother on my last birthday." Bellatrice licked her lips, her eyes welling bright. "It was the last gift I'd ever get from her. I couldn't bear to throw it out. You should still be able to smell the perfume on it. Perhaps that will help."

"Would you mind if I borrowed it—just for a little while? I need to try to figure out what went into that perfume and—"

She shrugged. "Go on. Do whatever it is healers do. But I want it back when you're done."

"Of course," I promised. "Thank you, Princess. Your generosity is most appreciated."

Bellatrice raised a sharp eyebrow at me. "Don't go around telling anyone about this. I've a reputation to uphold."