Page 199 of Immortal Rose

The warmth in my chest turned sparkling. Divine. How easy it would be to simply stay here, to lie down in the cool grass and rest. The temptation stole my breath.

The bottles in my hands felt sun-warmed as I followed the final curve of the path beyond the hedge grove to where a sprawling oak awaited me—solitary, vast, ancient.

A soft, otherworldly hum filled my ears as I stretched a hand toward its gnarled trunk, stroking it. My love was overwhelming, enough to bring hot tears to my eyes.

The oak’s song turned anticipatory. Adoring. When it quieted, I knew it was waiting for its offer. Here, in the past, I would have whispered, I give you a night’s sleep for another’s slumber, or a lock of my hair’s beauty, so that another may be so perceived. Precise, precise, precise. That had been Mama’s greatest lesson.

But this was the first time I had come here to offer a fairy fruit’s magic, and for a moment, I was at a loss for what to do.

The hum returned, pulsing in time with the fluttering in my chest, with my heart.

The words came to my mind then, as if someone had whispered them into my soul.

I held up the bottles, pouring that single drop of nectar into the other flacon. Gripping it in one hand and placing the other back onto the oak, I spoke. I seek to make Immortal Rose, the antidote of all poisons and venoms. I offer the nectar of the flowering Afallach tree to make it so.

So there would be no mistake of whom the perfume was intended for, I brought an image of Hugh to mind, enveloping him in a golden, healing light, envisioning the poison lifting from him like smoke.

There was a last moment of quiet before I felt the stirring of magic within the oak. It raced up the length of my arm in whorls of light and power. The force of it nearly knocked me back, threatening to sever the connection between myself and the magic roaring through the air. The heat coiled at my center, blinding, until I blazed like a star.

Then, as quickly as it had come on, the outpouring of magic eased, cooling like sand as it settled closer to my skin once more. A ragged breath escaped me as the last of its coils spun around the hand clutching the flacon.

The tree fell silent, and the garden receded. When I opened my eyes again, I was in the still room, the first brush of predawn stealing in through the windows behind me.

I held up the completed perfume, bringing the quizzing glass to my eye. Inside the flacon, the perfume swirled with fading glimmers, and the scent that filled the air was nothing short of divine.

Tears pricked my eyes again as I breathed in that lost scent, the impossible beauty of Immortal Rose. I had never smelled anything like it and likely never would again. For a moment, I was Venia herself, waking to new life beneath the roses in the garden of the gods.

I set the quizzing glass down and placed a stopper in the flacon. Relief sent a wave of tremors through me as I picked up another bottle and began blending the other components of the perfume again, finishing it without the nectar. Done, I sealed it and stepped back.

The lingering effect of the magic that had coursed through me left me in an exhausted daze. Taking that small, precious dab of perfume with me, I made my way upstairs.

The melancholy light covered the bedchamber like a mourning shroud, dimming even the light from the roaring fire in the hearth. The onslaught of heat made me lightheaded as I crossed the threshold.

Mrs. Silver looked up from where she was stroking Hugh’s damp hair from his forehead. She and the others had bathed him before piling wool blankets over his shivering form.

The sight of his clenched jaw, tensed with pain, reassured me. He was still alive. He could still be saved.

“May I have a moment alone with him?” I asked.

Mrs. Silver took in the sight of me. I wondered if she might have suspected, or if she was afraid I might try something reckless. As it was, it was too late to prevent either.

“Of course, ma chère,” she said as she rose and came toward me. She leaned down to kiss my forehead. The simple act left my throat thick and my hands trembling.

My eyes went to the portrait of Mama on the easel.

“I cannot regret this,” I told her. “I’m sorry.”

With a final look, I moved to the bed. The mattress dipped as I sat beside Hugh. He stirred in response. He was so pale—his eyelids fluttered, as if he was fighting with every bit of that abominable will to open them.

“It’s all right,” I told him, stroking his clammy cheek. “Everything is well. You can rest.”

He strained again.

“It’s all right,” I whispered again, pulling out the flacon’s stopper. The scent of Immortal Rose released like a lover’s sigh, but my heart’s hammering didn’t ease until Hugh’s breath evened out.

“There we are,” I said, dabbing the perfume onto my finger.

I painted the fragrance along his jaw, along the curve of his top lip, down his neck to that hollow at the base of his throat, until there was nothing left in the bottle. On the chance it might help in some small way, I set it on the table beside the bed, studying his face for any change. If anything, he only sank deeper into sleep.