The Last Tale of the Flower Bride(42)

My mother’s shoulders dropped. Her brow furrowed. “Azure, I . . . yes, I want you to go. I want you to see the world. I want that so badly—” She stopped, gathered herself, turned around, rummaged on the counter for a pen, and quickly signed the form.

I glanced at the clock. Jupiter would be home any moment. Whatever gentleness I detected in her voice would vanish. I heard her say my name softly, though I didn’t acknowledge it.

“Thanks,” I said, taking the form.

I didn’t stay once the papers were signed, and my mother didn’t stop me. Or maybe she couldn’t. Maybe she was too much a part of Jupiter’s house that no piece of her could stretch a finger toward me.



In the days leading up to the trip, I barely saw Indigo, even though I could feel her in the House. Her art, her gift, consumed her. I only saw her step foot outside the Camera Secretum once to whisper something to Mrs. Revand. At dinner, her eyes were glazed over. It didn’t matter how much food I ate. I starved until she lifted a fork.

During the day, I read to pass the time. But in the dark, when our knees touched underneath her heavy blankets, I’d tell Indigo how every story we gathered would turn into a bright coin, and when I felt her smile, I’d breathe again. This was as it should be. If I sometimes crept to Tati’s study just to touch the pebbled blue edge of my passport—marveling at my name and photo, the blank pages—it meant nothing. If I daydreamed of cobblestones soaked in honeyed light, or the air of some other place . . . it was only the mental cataloguing of future treasures.

The day before we left, Tati caught me in her study with the passport in my hand.

“Sorry—” I said, dropping it back into her bag.

“There’s no need to apologize,” said Tati, walking over and stroking my hair. “Never apologize for wishing to devour the world whole, child. It makes my heart happy to see you this way. Maybe we’ll go on many more adventures after this one. You girls are almost seventeen! It’s time to see what’s waiting for you out there.”

I nodded and leaned against her, breathing in the smell of hot glue and dried roses. As I closed my eyes, a shadow across the room caught my eye. I looked up, but the doorway to Tati’s room was empty. I smiled, sure it was the House being playful.

Perhaps it didn’t want us to leave.



The day of our trip, I didn’t sleep, didn’t blink. I couldn’t remember the last time I had left the island. Mrs. Revand packed us a breakfast for the car ride to Indigo’s private charter. I couldn’t eat it though. My hands shook as Indigo dressed us for the journey—a white cotton shift for me, a black one for her, matching black and white tulle dress overlays embroidered with flowers.

“Won’t this be uncomfortable on the plane?” I asked, plucking at the tulle.

“It won’t be a long ride,” said Indigo as she tied her hair back. “And you look lovely in it.”

It was early, and the sea was molten steel. When I stared out at the water, I thought I saw the scaled tail of a mermaid part the waves. From the landing dock, Tati shepherded us off the ferry and into a sleek black car that smelled of adhesives and sealants and artificial flowers. After an hour in the car, we arrived at the entrance of an airplane hangar, where another sleek machine waited.

“Stay here,” said Tati. She patted her bag and smiled at us. Her headscarf was cerulean and matched the scarf draped around the neck of her trench coat. “I’ll just give them the documents and we’ll be on our way.”

I squeezed Indigo’s hand, and she smiled back at me.

“It’s not what you think, you know,” said Indigo, slouching against me. “Paris is boring. Nothing like here. I’ve been loads of times when I was little.” She wrinkled her nose. “It smells bad too.”

I nodded, not quite listening. I was watching Tati rummage through her bag before two men dressed in navy uniforms. A pilot stood beside them, his brow furrowed as he glanced between the car and the plane. Tati’s eyes went wide. I couldn’t hear what she was saying as she pointed at the bag and the car, then held up her hands and swiftly returned to us. Tati opened the door, a tight smile on her face—

“I’m so sorry, girls,” she said quickly. “I know I triple-checked everything last night, but Azure’s passport must have fallen out of my bag.” Tati shook her head, and a hand of cold closed around my heart. “We’ll go back and look for it, okay? Don’t worry.”

I saw the tight lines around her eyes though. We all climbed in. Indigo yawned and rested her head in my lap. I winced. Her skull was leaden, weighed down by all her power. I worried it might snap my legs. As we drove back to the House, Tati kept up a steady stream of chatter.

“Are you sure you didn’t accidentally move your passport?” asked Tati, probing. “I won’t be mad. I know how much you liked it. Maybe you took it with you by accident?”

I shook my head. Indigo’s head in my lap was so still I wondered if she was breathing. Tati sighed and turned back around in her seat. I touched Indigo’s shoulder. She didn’t move. I thought maybe she’d fallen asleep, but there was a taut, hyperextended quality to the line of her neck and her grip on my knee was rigid and bloodless. I could not tell whether it was her body she was trying to hold in place or mine.

As the House of Dreams pulled into focus, a lump rose in my chest.