The Last Tale of the Flower Bride(79)

I held this truth in my bones as I limped back to the woman who was still my wife. She did not disappear. She did not dissolve when I touched her shoulder and offered my hand.

She startled, still kneeling in the dark with death in her lap. Her feathers were soaked. Even from where I stood, I caught the scent of her, washed true by the rain. Honeysuckles.

“You came back.”

I nodded.

“Why?”

There were a dozen reasons, none of which I could easily articulate. I was thinking of her pulse beneath my fingertips and my brother’s small feet vanishing into the armoire. Of the artless way the body had been covered, the plea therein a hope not simply to be discovered but punished. I wondered at the way she had devised to be hurt. Perhaps she thought she deserved it. Just as I had expected her to leave me for the simple reason that I could not fathom a world in which I was not worth being left.

“It’s not you that I wish to leave behind.”

When I looked at her, I saw all the people we had been to each other. Beast, maiden, lover, god: a thousand iterations. I held out my hand farther.

It was dim all around us, but we could clearly see the only future left to us. A wilderness without walls, a place where pointed silences and unanswered questions could not survive. We shrank to behold this future so nakedly, but we did not run. I watched as she took my hand, her grip slippery.

Slowly, silently, we made our way out of the dark.





Chapter Thirty-Five

Azure




My husband finds me on the porch of the House of Dreams and hands me a cup of tea. He’s brought a candelabra and the light flickers weakly on the handsome planes of his face as he sets it on the ground between us.

I take him in—the way his tall frame stoops through doors, the gold of his hair, the ink smudges on those slender, scholarly hands. His hand twitches on his leg, and I am both surprised and relieved he wants to touch me.

When we touch, I am my most honest with him. When we move together, I try to show him the truth of myself. He loves her, but when I step into the role of a dozen different women, I imagine these are the moments when he can see through all the costumes.

“Azure,” he says, and I try not to flinch.

I let myself meet his gaze and I cannot breathe. When he looks at me, the light in his eyes is soft. And it is for me.

For a long time, I’ve been waiting for judgment. For some god to hurl a lightning bolt at me or strike me dead. I wonder now if I’ve been looking for gods in all the wrong places. There is a bruised recognition in his gaze and that—this singular truth that I am not alone—expands the universe in a way that faith never has.

“Azure,” he says again, and I can tell that he is testing out this name’s shape against his teeth. “Tell me your story.”

Azure. It has been years since that was my name. Years since I remembered how to answer to it. I tried to say the name aloud to Tati, but there was nothing left of her in that body.

My husband reaches for my hand. Our wedding rings touch. I have never before considered what it means to have a good marriage. I thought it was finding intriguing and attractive company. But maybe it is about finding someone whose heart is like a mirror, whose love can make you stand the sight of yourself.

I look into his eyes, aware that we are starting down a path I had not envisioned. I don’t know where it ends, but I know this is not the first time we will sit like this, with our hands intertwined, the space between us aching to be remade by every confession we have folded within the dark of ourselves.

I take a deep breath, and I speak:

“The first thing you have to understand is that I loved her.”





Epilogue




Long ago, there lived a king and queen in a house of dreams, and there they quietly tended to their ghosts and knew all the shadows by name. The house was vast. Sometimes the king or queen got lost. When that happened, they would hold each other’s hands and say— It was once upon a time.

That was all it was. A prayer and a promise in one. A single page composed of the past.

Eventually, what was once softened to a palimpsest of lost words and snowfall, starlings and sparrow wings and blue ink. In this way, the king and queen crafted a tale of their own.

In the end, they lived.





Acknowledgments




Thank you to my editor, Jessica Williams, whose brilliance and precision unearthed what this book wanted to be. To Julia Elliott, whose enthusiasm and sharp insight made this editorial process intensely rewarding. Thank you to my agent, Thao Le, who gave this story a home here, and Andrea Cavallaro, who gave this story a home abroad. To Sarah Simpson-Weiss, thank you for wrangling hours so I can write tales.

Thank you to Brittani Hilles, D.J. Desmyter, and everyone at the William Morrow publicity, sales, audio, and marketing teams who helped guide this story into the light, gave it new form, and delivered it into the hands of readers. Thank you to Amy R. for the thoughtful sensitivity read.

This book came together at a time when I needed friends and family most. To Niv, Bismah, McKenzie, Cara-Joy, Cali, Nirvi, and Marta—your friendship is a treasure. To Renee, Lemon, JJ, Jen Cervantes, Katie Webber, Evie Dunmore, Shannon Chakraborty, Sabaa Tahir, Ayana Gray, Lyra Selene, Sanjena Sathian, Stephanie Garber, and Holly Black—I would be lost without your wisdom, kindness, feedback, and friendship. To Ali, Kaitlin, MeiLin, Hailey, Natasha, and Katie, thanks for indulging my nonsense and keeping me grounded.