The dead flower sat on the piano, immobile and useless, the only witness to the music Ivette played on the ivory keys. A dark thunderous song resounded through the empty room. When Ivette played, it felt like she walked on a thin rope over a ravine, with clear skies above and a raging, brackish river below. Mistakes weren't just intolerable. They were unthinkable. The songs she played had to be unbroken, unmarred by dissonant chords and choppy phrasing.
She didn't hear the sound of quiet footsteps behind her, so lost to the world was she.
A pair of hands brushed against her shoulders. A kiss was pressed against the base of her neck where her hair swept up in a twisted knot. Ivette's fingers froze mid-arpeggio, striking a sour flat key.
"Don't stop, mon ange," Étienne whispered in her ear. His breath was as cold as his lips against her skin. "Go on."
She tried to remember where she'd left off, but her mind went hopelessly blank. Even if she'd remembered her place, there was no point continuing, for with Étienne's arrival, all her expression faded, the rhythm of the music lost. She turned in her seat to face him. She hadn't seen Étienne since her return.
Before she could say a word, he brought his hands down to cup her cheeks, bent low, and kissed her.
"I'm relieved to know you're safely returned to Marseille," he said, pulling away. "But I've been wondering why you would not see me sooner. Surely you haven't been that busy."
Despite the kiss, Ivette remained remarkably coherent. "I haven't."
Étienne's eyes narrowed a little, and when he bent down to kiss her again, Ivette realized he knew exactly why she hadn't seen him. Now he only stalled for time.
She tugged away from him and stood up. A few kisses from him would not make her forgive his actions so readily.
"Father Desjardins told me he wrote to you regarding the cathedral's state. Is that true?"
"You can't blame him."
"Is it true?"
Étienne sighed, knowing there was no talking his way out of it. "Yes, it's true." He hurried on when Ivette opened her mouth to say something else. "But you must understand, mon ange. I did it to help you. I alone have seen how weary you are. I feared that whatever would be amiss with the cathedral would only upset you. Father Desjardins shared those sentiments, and you shouldn't fault either of us for acting in your best interests."
"I can, actually," Ivette replied, taking the foxglove in hand. "Do you see this, Étienne? This is but an inkling of what Frantsiya's future will be. Do you know why?"
Her fiancé fidgeted and looked away from the blackened flower uncomfortably. "No," he said.
"Because despite everything you told me, your proclamations of Vesna blessing us no matter what I did, you were wrong. Vesna's blessing is gone, her favor upon us taken with it. I've seen with my own eyes the way her statue is crumbling at the cathedral. You see here now the beginnings of our end. This does not concern only me, but my entire kingdom--our kingdom. I believe I am justifiably upset with you. So much time has been lost where I knew nothing of Vesna's disappearance."
Étienne's next words lashed out with too much defense in his tone. "How was I to know that? Father Desjardins's letters merely spoke of an ill foreboding that he wanted to prevent you from taking upon your shoulders, not...not..." He broke off, pale and livid with shock.
"A goddess's absence? It's alarming, isn't it? Imagine how much closer I could be to finding a solution had either you or Father Desjardins disclosed this to me earlier."
She didn't bother to hide the sarcasm in her voice, and she regarded Étienne with haughty composure.
He took a shaky breath, forcing his own temper back into check. "Well now you know. Is anyone else aware?"
"Genevieve Anjou, one of my attendants," Ivette returned. "She was with me at the cathedral. It stands to reason she would know, but she is sworn to secrecy."
Étienne dragged a hand through his hair and began to pace. "Alright, well...that can't be helped. You understand I will keep this between us, correct? You have my word." Ivette didn't answer, and Étienne repeated himself, a little harsher. "You have my word, Ivette."
"How am I to trust you?"
He stilled. "Don't be absurd. You have always trusted me. You will always be able to trust me."
"That's not true. If you were to keep something like this from me now, how am I to know you won't do it again?"
"Nothing like this has happened before, Ivette, and the likelihood of it happening again is slim to none. You're getting ahead of yourself."
"Am I? Must I remind you that the affairs of the state don't belong to you yet? They are mine to oversee. I know that will change in time, but that time has not come yet. It is not me who is getting ahead of myself. Were this a different time, I could try both you and Father Desjardins for collusion."
"By different time do you mean when Adeline ruled?"
Ivette's breath sharpened like daggers in her chest. "I'm not talking about her right now."
"And I don't want to argue with you, mon ange," he said, perhaps hoping the nickname would soothe the tender bruises of Ivette's heart that he'd prodded. "It seems all we do as of late is argue, and it tires me."
He took several measured steps toward Ivette, who stood motionless, her eyes transfixed on the ground. She went rigid and felt like she couldn't breathe when he took her in his arms and held her close to his chest. The flower almost fell from her hand. She heard the beating of his heart, fast and uneven from his agitation.
"You and I...we will find a solution, the way we have always done," he whispered into her hair. "If a goddess can leave, then she can be brought back."
"You're going to be angry with me, Étienne," she murmured against the crisp smoothness of his silken shirt.
"Angry with you?" He pushed her back by the shoulders to better look at her. Cool air rushed between them, a steady barrier. "Angry how?"
"I already have a solution." Her voice became thick and unsteady. "And I know you won't like it, but I don't have another way."
Étienne's brows lowered. "What is it?"
"I have written draft letters--invitations--to the respective rulers of Ryssland and Norvége to invite them and their embassies under the prospects of reconciliation and arbitration to the Spring Courts. I--"
Étienne let go of her abruptly. "You didn't."
"Étienne...Étienne, please hear me out."
"No, you must listen to me. Whatever it is you are trying to do, stop it at once. Do not send those letters."
"I must. If I can reach an accord with either nation, then I can save Frantsiya. Perhaps one of them will know how to find Vesna."
"That is madness! Utter insanity!!" He turned from her and she grabbed at his wrist, begging him to see reason.
"If you look at it logistically, I can--"
"No one will support that! Not one house, not one family will agree with you."
"They don't have to. They'll understand once I bring Vesna back. Father Desjardins said if I sought an audience with her then there might be a way to earn back her favor. I'll announce it after the Vernal Fête if Ryssland and Norvége agree to come."
"Are you even listening to yourself?" Étienne pried her hand from his wrist. "This is lunacy, and I won't let you do this to yourself. You will lose every supporter in the courts, and you will have no one to turn to but a crazy tsar who would happily kill you and a king from Norvége we know next to nothing about, and that's on the condition of them even responding. I'm going to find those letters, and we're going to destroy them, understand? It will be like they never existed." He turned to leave.
"What else would you have me do?" Ivette demanded, storming after him. He walked fast, making it difficult to keep up. "I have no choice!"
"You cannot make such a rash decision without the consultation of others. You're smarter than this, Ivette!"
She ignored the veiled insult. "That's ridiculous, I have no one to consult who could provide any insight beyond refuting me. Do you think that hasn't occurred to me already? Because it has! It has, Étienne! But given time, I can prove that this method has merit. While I am doing it to find Vesna, it will appear to everyone else that we are making leaps and bounds towards peace with Ryssland and Norvége, which wouldn't be untrue. It's a side effect of this idea that will harm no one. This is my solution, and I don't care what it does to me, if it destroys me from the inside out, and I don't care who disagrees with me. When all the cards are down, it is my decision to make!"
"One that affects us all," Étienne snapped. He stopped walking to glare at her. "Were you not just berating me for selfish decisions?"
"I am not being selfish, I'm acting in everyone's best interests. That's what I am supposed to do, what I have been doing since I was seventeen. Is it not better to seek peace than to wait with such suspense as we are blinded to our surroundings, just so we may see what everyone else will do?"
"It can't be done."
"Are you saying that because nobody has ever tried, or because you don't believe I'm capable of it?"
Étienne didn't answer. He pursed his lips, furious with indignation, unsure of how to answer the snare of Ivette's inquiry. She waited with bated breath for his expected vehement denial. It didn't come. All the air left her lungs with surprise, and all her ire collapsed beneath its own weight
"Do what you will," Étienne muttered, but his mistake had already been made.
"Oh," Ivette mouthed. She stepped away from him. She should've known all along that even Étienne would doubt her.
Outside the wind blew gently and the flowers swayed in the breeze. Ivette couldn't help but think of them withering and dying again and again, of the sun vanishing from the sky, of Marseille becoming colder than anything she'd ever known.
She walked stiffly away down the hall without a backward glance, feeling as though she didn't really move. She was like the wind passing through the boughs of wisteria, not thinking, "It is I who will do this," but rather, "This happens through me. Only me."
As she walked away from Étienne, she felt some unseen rift tear between them, like brocaded silk rending in two. If Étienne would only go after her, tell her he didn't mean it, that he--
Ivette shook her head and walked a little faster. Her habit of wishing Étienne would behave in a way that was more than just uncharacteristic for him was getting to be too much.
She went mindlessly back to her quarters in the hopes of being alone to sort out her thoughts.
Instead, as she peeled open the door, she found Therese, Camille, and Genevieve waiting for her, though as they heard the door open, they made a great show of pretending like they had not been waiting for any great length of time.
Ivette stepped into the room, studying each of their faces quietly. The harsh lines of Therese's expression seemed even more drawn. Camille looked like she was about to vomit, but her thin lips maintained their steady half-smile. Genevieve fidgeted, looking between the two. All of them saw the foxglove in Ivette's hand. And though only Genevieve should've known what it was, the recognition on both Therese's and Camille's faces said all Ivette needed to know.
"Genevieve, I thought you would tell no one," she said with muted understanding.
That was all it took for Genevieve to promptly burst into tears. She rushed toward Ivette. "Oh, Your Majesty, I tried to keep it a secret! Really I did, but they were so persistent, and I...I...please don't be angry with me! I didn't mean to!"
"Don't crowd Her Majesty," Therese snapped, yanking Genevieve back. "And it's your own fault! You made such a big show about how you knew something we didn't."
"You mustn't blame Genevieve," Camille said to Ivette. "Therese and I were awfully pushy. We had no idea that Vesna..."
Yes, it seemed nobody had any idea about anything lately.
"I'm sorry!" Genevieve wailed.
"For heaven's sake, stop crying!" Therese ordered.
Genevieve stifled her sobs behind her lace sleeves.
"It's alright," Ivette said, once the din of tears had ebbed. "I shouldn't have burdened you with a secret like that to begin with, Genevieve. Though I must ask you all to remain quiet on the subject around anyone else. You are not to discuss this matter outside these rooms, understand?"
They all silently nodded.
Ivette shoved the foxglove into the drawer of an end table, and she could almost hear the sighs of relief from her ladies-in-waiting once the flower was out of sight.
"Are you hungry, Your Majesty?" Camille offered. "I...I think there's a plate of beignets in your study left over from tea. I could fetch them for you."
The thought of food made Ivette want to be sick. "No, thank you."
Camille nodded, and no more was said. And what could be said that had not been repeated a thousand times? No consolation could mend the rifts in all their hearts and fix the shattered mess of their peace. No promises would be made of how this would all be alright. It would've been a lie. Who knew if anything would be alright ever again?
Ivette went to go sit in an armchair by the window. She tried to shake loose her unease, her worries of what was to come, her anguish over Étienne's doubt. But like iron shackles and weighted chains, they did not come off, dragging after her along the ground.
Her ladies-in-waiting were beside themselves with what to do. Their queen, though not always lively, was seldom so despondent. It added to the general unrest in the room.
A flash of red caught Ivette's eye. The shock of seeing the color made her stomach turn inside out, like a glove. Red...red...red.
The color of blood, the color of yew berries, the color of--
Ivette half rose in her seat. Not one of her ladies-in-waiting noticed the firebird spiraling up and around outside. Ivette cast hasty glances in their direction. Genevieve paced and scrubbed at her glassy green eyes, her cheeks flushed. If she walked any closer she would have a perfect view of the window--and the firebird.
Therese and Camille were too busy whispering worriedly to each other to pay attention.
Ivette anxiously looked out the window again. The firebird soared up in another graceful swoop. It had come back, really and truly. Ivette felt a light feeling swell up within her, pushing away the weight of fear. Another look at her ladies-in-waiting. If the firebird went any higher, they would see it, and Ivette didn't have it in her to explain why a bird from Ryssland begged entry into the Marseille Palace. That and the sudden desire to keep the bird's existence a secret exploded in her head.
When it came to matters of the court, Ivette didn't mind what her ladies-in-waiting knew. But the firebird felt so much more personal, something she was under no obligation to share or talk about. The thrill of enchantment made her skin prickle.
"Camille," she said, a bit breathless. "I actually am a little hungry."
"Oh, of course, Your Majesty. I'll be right back. Genevieve, come along with me." She hurried away with light footfalls, like a sylph or some kind of nymph. Genevieve trailed after her, attempting to mask her pitiful snivels.
Therese clicked her tongue. "I should tag along. I can't trust them to do anything by themselves. Will you be alright, Your Majesty?"
"Yes," Ivette breathed without looking her way. "Oh, yes, I'll be just fine."
Therese bustled off, and none too soon, for that was when the firebird decided to alight on the sill and rap at the window with its beak. This time, Ivette felt no apprehension in opening the window, doing so with feverish excitement. The bird flapped its way inside, finding a comfortable perch on the back of Ivette's chair. Another note was tied around its scaly leg.
Ivette hadn't realized she was smiling until she felt an ache in her cheeks.
Though she knew not many people were in the habit of talking to animals seeing as they didn't listen, she felt that it was different with the firebird. "You've caught me at a very bad time, you know. You were almost seen by other people who wouldn't like you as much as I do." She laughed a bit, feeling her eyes sting at the broken sound.
The firebird tilted its head, and then it bowed.
"Oh, forgive me." Ivette curtsied.
The bird preened, grateful that she hadn't forgotten. Ivette sat in the chair looking up at it, marveling with childlike wonderment at the glossiness of its feathers, the luminescence of its jewel-like eyes, eyes that held a language all their own.
And she is was so profoundly grateful for some mysterious reason that she could see this elegant, beautiful bird again. Whether it was gratitude to the owner for writing to her again or gratitude for something else, she didn't know.
"I wasn't sure I would ever see you again. Yet I feel such a sense of hope now that you're around." She rested a hand on the back of the chair, almost touching the bird, but not quite. She was careful to avoid that once more. "I don't know why your owner ever deigned to write an answer. But you are a clever bird for finding me again."
Ivette didn't know how, but the bird looked supremely smug at the compliment. Then, to add to the point of it being a very clever bird among birds, it held its leg out, offering the note for Ivette's viewing discretion.
Ivette took it, her fingers tingling with the warmth of the firebird. What would it feel like to bury her fingers in its lustrous feathers? She fought back the urge, though it lingered as before.
She unfolded the note, written in the same hand as the first one. It was a direct response to her reply:
"Perhaps it was my intention to write to you. My friend tells me you are a Frantsiyan noble. He's very smart, but not quite as smart as me since I think you're a Frantsiyan noblewoman. My firebird has wonderful taste in delivering notes if that is the case. Would you be so kind as to tell me which of us has proven smarter?"
So the theme of silliness continued, though she was taken aback at how perceptive the author was. She looked between letter and bird several times. If the firebird was aware of its owner being particularly ludicrous, it hinted at nothing. But then again, firebirds were very proud, and Ivette liked that it had no way to pass any criticism or assumptions.
"I must say whoever writes these is beyond daring, especially after making such an astute observation," she murmured, and then she surprised herself by laughing. "Are they drunk again, or was this one written with a sober hand? Shall I play along a second time, dear firebird?" She glanced at the door left partially open to ensure her ladies-in-waiting weren't nearby.
The firebird made no move to leave, signaling that it wouldn't do so until it had another note to carry. She rooted around the room for her quill, ink, and paper, but thinking of the best way to respond was difficult.
"The talent for writing letters is peculiarly attributed to us women," she told the firebird. "But here's a little secret: I haven't a shred of wit or humor within me to match your owner."
All her life she'd written letters, both political and friendly, to dukes and duchesses and counts and countesses, to friends and enemies and everyone in between. But now that she thought about it, she had never been part of an exchange that was purely superficial, that had no need to be serious. The only responses she could think of felt unnaturally severe and formal, ironic given that she wrote to someone from Ryssland.
She fell back against the chair, reading the letter over and over again, trying to work out what kind of person the writer was. They'd concluded she was Frantsiyan, and though she was more than just a noblewoman, they were scarily accurate. But what could she deduce about them? Were they from the Rysslandic nobility? How else could they employ a firebird in such a way?
Then again...she wasn't sure she wanted to know. If she never found out who the sender was, she could keep an image of them in mind that nobody could change, and how nice that would be, when there was no way to control the way everyone around her acted. A game of make-believe was all this would be, faceless and nameless letters that were beyond risible.
She chewed her lower lip, eyeing the firebird. Then an idea popped into her head, and she wrote it down.
"I think your firebird is the smartest since it knowns precisely who I am."
She heard the faint hush of voices down the hall, signaling her that her ladies-in-waiting were returning. With fumbling hands, she tied the note around the bird's leg and ushered it towards the window.
"Hurry back," she whispered, and it dove from the window into the sky, ripping its beauty and warmth away from Ivette. She didn't know if the sudden pang of anxiety she felt was for the firebird to come back, or to know what kind of response she would accrue.
"Your Majesty, why are you leaning out the window?" Genevieve asked, as she and the others sauntered back inside.
"Oh...I was just getting some air. That's all." She latched the window directly after saying that, which didn't provide much weight for her excuse. Nobody questioned it. When they weren't looking, she tucked the note from the firebird into a fold of her skirts for later.
"The weather is lovely today," Camille noted, not that anybody could speak for future days. She set down the plate of beignets, pillow-soft pastries dusted with sugar.
"Your Majesty?"
"Yes, Genevieve?"
"I wasn't sure if I should ask because you mentioned it to me only once at the cathedral...but even Therese wants to know, and don't say you don't, Therese, you were just talking about it! But all of us were wondering if...if you really were going to invite Ryssland and Norvége into Frantsiya. Does that mean we won't have the Vernal Fête?"
Shockwaves of guilt pulsed through Ivette for reasons unbeknownst to her, perhaps because she hadn't been forward with them to begin with when they most deserved it. She waded through the subject with the utmost care.
With a sigh she said, "I want you to listen to me, all three of you. I do intend to open negotiations with our neighboring countries, and I know that scares you. It's a terrifying idea because not once in the history of Frantsiya has it happened before. But if I am to bring Vesna back--and I swear to you on my throne, my crown, and the entire House of Soleil that I will do just that--this is the first step. I can't ask anything of you--"
"Please say no more, Your Majesty," Therese interrupted. She smiled slightly, the worry lines that creased her forehead softening. "We know. You have our trust and support, come what may. If it is a decision you have made, then that is all we need. And we do not need to fear a tsar or a king."
"Without Vesna, it is you we look to," Camille said, her voice soft with feeling. "I can think of nothing that makes me take heart more."
Genevieve looked around, realizing that she was expected to say something. She took a deep breath. "So does this mean we're having the Fête?"
Camille gave a very unladylike snort into her hand, and Therese had to turn her back to avoid lashing out at Genevieve's informality.
"Of course we will," Ivette said, smiling.
Genevieve lit up. "Truly? Oh, that makes me so happy! What kind of ball will it be, Your Majesty?"
"Perhaps one where attendees must possess a certain level of intelligence to enter," Therese grumbled. Everyone pretended not to hear.
"I haven't given it much thought," admitted Ivette. "But...maybe a masquerade."
"A masquerade? Mon Dieu, what fun!!" Genevieve clasped Camille by the hands and began spinning around the room. "And there we shall forget our worries and fears and dance till we cannot stand with nobles and commoners and everyone in between! What fun, what fun!"
"Therese," Ivette whispered off to the side, almost drowned out by the laughter of Genevieve and Camille. "I have the letters for the tsar of Ryssland and the king of Norvége written. After I look over them once more, I want them delivered as discreetly as possible with no questions asked on anyone's part."
"It will be done, Your Majesty," Therese murmured. "I already know several couriers from the House of Sabran who will do nothing but what you ask."
"Thank you, Therese."
"Anything for you, Your Majesty."
Within the next day, the letters were sent, and with the exception of the grand duke and three ladies-in-waiting, no one in the Spring Courts was any the wiser as to what their queen planned to do.