Chapter 36

It was far too late and much too dark to be working in the greenhouse.

Amber light from the gas lamps outside filtered through the leaves of oversized palms and other hothouse trees, but it wasn't enough to truly see by. I walked up and down the landscaped paths, holding my lantern low to cast back shadows from the neatly labeled stakes identifying each of the plants.

Armed with the perfumed dress, I wandered through the greenhouse, searching for anything with a similar scent. I had already picked out the notes of peony, water lily, and vanilla, but there was a darker, woodsy undertone that eluded me. I knew I knew it, I knew I'd smelled it before, but couldn't identify when or where.

The walkways seemed to wind for miles. This greenhouse was the largest I'd ever been in, home to a gloriously curated collection of plants. Fruit trees lined the perimeter, their produce ranging from simple red-cheeked apples and peaches to exotic berries and citrus. A pond lay in the center, full of lily pads and lotus blossoms. In the dim light, painted turtles bobbed in and out of the reeds, popping their striped necks up for a quick breath before darting back into the water.

Even without the heat of the sun, a warm humidity lingered inthe air, so thick the surrounding greenery's heady sweetness swirled across my tongue, coating my lungs.

The scent I sought was too dark to have come from violets or pansies. Perhaps some type of rose?

I stepped into a lane of roses, bending to sniff at the first bush. The sterling-colored petals were breaking into bloom, and felt like velvet to the touch, but they weren't the source. Nor were the next roses, red as wine and as large as saucers. I soon lost count of how many flowers I'd smelled. Yellow heirlooms with extravagantly frilled edges, cabbages roses as soft and sweet as a young girl's first blush, white tea roses that needed to be deadheaded, their petals withered and dry. None was quite right.

"What are you?" I muttered to the perfume, bringing the dress to my nose once more. My eyes watered, I felt a touch lightheaded, and my sinuses ached. I was in desperate need of fresh air and a cool breeze.

I turned down a row of palms, certain it was the quickest way out of the greenhouse, but the path ended at a patio overlooking the pond. The full moon had come out, casting blue beams down through the tempered glass, highlighting the wicker furniture and cushioned seats.

"Oh!" I exclaimed, spotting a dark form perched on a lounge chair, hands held out before her, fingers laced tightly together as if in prayer. "Margaux."

At the sound of my voice, she startled, jumping to her feet. When she saw me, she sank back into the chaise.

"Hazel," she greeted me warmly. "You weren't at dinner tonight. Were you with the king?"

"For a bit. He was sleeping when I checked in earlier. I've been…" A sigh escaped me. "I feel as though I've been everywhere today."

"Join me," she said, gesturing to the empty seat across from her. "You look as though you need a rest."

I sat on the edge of the lounge chair, wishing I could lie back in the plush cushions, but decorum held me in check. "What are you doing up so late? I would have guessed the whole palace asleep bynow."

"Or out at Adelaide Moncrieff's grand fete," she said with wry observance. "I spotted Leopold and Bellatrice getting into a carriage earlier." She rolled her eyes with a flippancy that I was surprised to see in someone reported to be so very pious. "You'd never guess they just came out of mourning and that their father was in his sickbed, would you?"

I shrugged. "It does seem indelicate, but we don't know—"

Margaux made a face at me. "Don't we, though?" Her lips began to form another accusation but then she shook her head, apparently thinking better of it. "I'm sorry. It has been quite a day. My tongue is getting the better of me. But I'm glad you're here now."

She leaned against the angled back of the chaise and rubbed her eyes. When she looked at me again, she smiled. I couldn't remember the last time someone had looked at me like that, like they were genuinely glad of being in my presence. It was a lovely sensation, one I'd acutely missed in the years after Kieron's death.

"I can't imagine all the things you've been through in the last day. Sit back, kick up your feet. As you said, the palace is asleep. No one is going to check to see that you're still working away."

Following her lead, I allowed myself to relax into the chair and let out an appreciative sigh as my muscles released the tension they'd been carrying since I'd woken up with Kieron atop me.

A mischievous twinkle sparkled in her eyes. "Better?"

"Much," I agreed.

"Tell me everything that has happened to you today."

"Everything is…a lot," I began. "But I do think I've made good steps toward finding a treatment for the king."

Her face seemed to freeze for a moment, as if she was concerned. But it must have been a trick of moonlight, because a radiant grin spread across her lips just seconds later. "You have? That's wonderful!" Margaux practically beamed. "I knew the Holy First sent me your image for a reason! What is it? The treatment?"

I told her the story of the broken perfume bottle and the maid who had survived the Shivers even as the rest of her family had not.

"You think something in the perfume helped her to heal," Margaux all but shouted, putting the ideas together. "Do you know what it is?"

"No. I've a sample of it…." I raised the dress. "But I can't seem to pick out all of the notes."

The oracle sat up excitedly. "Can I help? Ohhhh, please, Hazel, let me help!" She clasped her hands together in earnest pleading.

I felt on the verge of laughter. "I thought you said we were done with work for the day."

"I've changed my mind. I want to work. All I do is sit in my reverie chamber day after day, waiting for the Holy First to use me. Let me do something real. Let me use my hands!"

Her sentiment so perfectly echoed the very thing Leopold had accused her of earlier that day in the carriage that I couldn't find it in my heart to say no.

"If you insist," I said, handing over the silk dress. "What do you smell?"

She took a short whiff, then blinked with surprise. "Bellatrice does love her florals, doesn't she?" She smelled the dress again. "Vanilla, certainly. Maybe a peony?"

I nodded, waiting for more.

Margaux thought for a long moment. "There's…there's a very green scent to it, isn't there? Almost like a forest." She paused, chewing at her bottom lip. "I know I've smelled it a dozen times before, but…" She brightened. "Geranium!"

"Geranium?" I echoed, taking the dress back to smell it once more. I did smell the woodsy note that she'd mentioned, but it didn't seem as though geraniums could be its source.

She nodded adamantly. "They're my mother's favorite flower. She always has giant bushes of them planted around her windows so she can see their cheery red blooms all summer long. I'm certain that's what it is."

"They can help to treat pain," I mused.

Margaux let out a little shiver of excitement. "Then that proves it!" She immediately faltered, her face darkening. "But how do you turn geraniums into medicine?"

"That's not hard. Making tonics is a lot like cooking. We'll need to distill it down into an oil. That way it can be spread as a paste or added to tea. We'd just need to get the geraniums themselves. A lot of them," I added, thinking of how much of the king's body had been secreting the Brilliance.

I brought Bellatrice's dress to my nose again, still uncertain if the blend contained the essence of the squiggled leaves.

"Come on," Margaux said, tired of waiting for my response. She grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet. "They're this way!"