Purple Heart (14)

Compared to elsewhere, the Aengkeo trees in Rain bloomed more readily—but only with painstakingly maintained conditions. It made sense most perfumers would not recognize the scent of Arno Tauts Water. Here in Rain, it existed for a very specific purpose: attracting bees to the Aengkeo trees in the Brennel family’s private garden. In Viscount Brennel’s orchard, the blooms had come especially well. That orchard was the family’s pride—and their sole hope of continuing the line.

A deathlike quiet settled over the study.

“Sir Albert, thank you for your help.”

“I hope it proved useful.”

Albert looked worriedly at Alicia’s pale face.

“I must ask you to keep the sample confidential.”

“I will. And if you need anything else, say the word,” Albert answered. “Nobles tend to think of perfume and scent only as pleasant things. Perfume is extracted liquid—concentrated—and it can cause accidents or disasters. No matter how fine a fragrance is, once concentrated it can be dangerous.”

Albert, too, knew of the Brennel family. Flustered by a vassal of House Rain betraying them, he talked on to break the awkwardness. Any comment tied to the Marquess’s accident might sound rude—worse since he was an outsider—but the silence was suffocating, and for once he spoke at length. He wished he had Harry’s easy warmth; then he might have offered proper comfort. Despite that, Alicia felt grateful for his not-quite-comfort.

“I recently bought several perfumes.”

Alicia said, offering a lighter topic to loosen the freezing air, though her mind still throbbed with numb shock.

“Sadly, I’m ignorant about scents. Would you look at them sometime?”

“If you don’t mind, I’d be glad to.”

Albert said warmly.

“I’ll take my leave.”

Alicia rose with a courteous bow. Albert escorted her only to the door, fearing she would dislike being accompanied by someone who knew such an uncomfortable truth. Watching the departing figures, he gestured to a maid at a distance to see the guests out.

In the chill of night air, Alicia felt herself slowly thaw from her daze. Her crowded thoughts began to move quickly. She judged. She set the order of what must be done. It had been a shattering night.

Back at the Marquess’s residence, Alicia stepped down from the carriage and walked the grounds. After only a few steps, she stopped. Juan and Daisy, worried, trailed at a distance, casting glances at Alicia’s outline in the dark. She soon moved again. Only after she finished a slow circuit of the great house that had guarded Rain for generations did she go inside.

She did not return to her chambers. She went to the Maze Garden’s glasshouse—and stayed there, unmoving. Only silence kept her company.

When the sky shifted from dark to first light—

Knock, knock. The glasshouse wall sounded.

Alicia, who had seemed frozen in time, lifted her gaze. Wrapped in a cloak, Judith drew from her arms a palm-sized box. When she opened it, ivory cloth appeared. Alicia lifted the thin cloth and brought the box close to her face. Inside, alone, lay a single Aengkeo blossom—the flower said to symbolize immortality and miracles.

At once Alicia opened a long box on the tea table—the reins with a small incision lay within. She was sensitive to fragrance, but poor at judging its quality—one reason she had little interest in perfume. Even so, she could tell the two scents matched. More precisely: the small box carried the faint fragrance of the Aengkeo blossom and the heavy, undiluted note of Arno Tauts Water.

Nodding, Alicia asked for Judith’s opinion.

“How is it?”

Judith compared the small box and the long box once more.

“They’re the same.”

Judith watched Alicia’s face—the same composed face as ever.

“We’ve found it.”

Bathed in the glass garden’s soft light, her flat tone spread gently outward. Her face showed neither a cruel smile nor a savage twist. Meeting dawn, her expression was utterly calm. Serene, unshaken—colder than ever.

The Aengkeo Orchard was the most important place in Viscount Brennel’s estate. People said that even if the house had to sell the manor, they would never sell the orchard.

“W-what…?”

The Aengkeo blossom was a symbol of immortality and miracle. If that proud, scarlet flower were a person, it would have had a vile temper—beyond bad, downright foul. The most finicky, arrogant, ill-natured flower in the world.

Viscount Brennel’s lands lay far from the imperial capital of Baden, yet the central nobility still called on them—thanks entirely to the orchard. Even so, past viscounts had sometimes overcommitted deliveries. The next year’s bloom rate always plunged.

The previous viscount had instituted a rule: deliver only the fixed quota; whatever remained, no matter how small, must be set aside for propagation—hand-pollination counts. That rule had only existed since that viscount’s time, but it was a fortunate, correct decision.

Because the Aengkeo blossom was so temperamental, if you cut a branch bearing a bloom, it withered within an hour. Thus, when delivering Aengkeo, they shipped the entire small tree with roots intact, packed in nutrient-rich soil. Brennel poured its effort into selecting gardeners with deep horticultural skill and florists who could handle the flowers. The florists crafted high-priced “goods” for delivery. The blossoms were so delicate and precious that florists during delivery season looked ready to drop at any moment.

The orchard’s gardeners were busy year-round, nerves taut—especially in the pollination window.

“Dear heavens…”

Lou, a Brennel florist who had just finished the latest delivery and finally had a breather, went pale while walking the orchard. Several blossoms in fair condition lay on the ground. It had not rained yesterday. Nor had the wind blown hard. It was uncommon, but not unknown, for hand-pollinated blossoms to fall for no clear reason.

Lou backed carefully out of the danger zone, anxious someone might see. The section gardener would be howling any moment. With the Aengkeo, a moment’s inattention left them “ailing,” their vigor gone, and florists often wept.

Brennel’s people rarely scolded florists or gardeners harshly. They knew the flower’s nature.

“Oh… what is that…”

Pitying the poor gardener in her mind, Lou looked and saw another clump of fallen blossoms there. Not only there—flowers lay scattered here and there, not enough to call it a ruin, but far too many.

“This is madness.”

Lou sprinted toward the manor to sound the alarm. Next year’s harvest might not be ruined, but it would certainly not be good. The gardeners would be wailing in chorus today.

Damn Aengkeo. The trees had kept the Brennel house alive, and yet they were a demon that plunged its people into misery.

Felix headed for the tea room. Marquessess Marin and Harry were already there. The three chatted lightly while they waited for Alicia, who had summoned them. A courteous knock sounded. At the Marquessess’s glance, Felix called toward the door:

“Come in.”

As the door opened, a gentle voice said:

“Please wait outside.”

Entering, Alicia dismissed the servants. Her violet gaze brushed a footman in the room.

“See you later.”

Harry said smoothly, handing the teapot to the butler. The butler withdrew with the other staff.

For about an hour, teatime remained peaceful—no raised voices, only the soft ripple of everyday talk. When every cup had been emptied, Alicia rose, graceful and calm.

“Brennel and Miller have betrayed Rain.”

The three sets of eyes that had been following her froze with a clunk. Like Alicia’s quiet, their faces hardened into stillness.

“Please keep this strictly between us.”

Alicia said, her face undisturbed as deep water.

Felix gave a short nod. Harry, absorbed in thought, agreed with silence.

“What would you like for supper, Alicia?”

The Marquessess asked, coming close with gentle warmth—no hint of plots or danger in her voice.

“Something light would be nice.”

“Let’s do that.”

“I’ve sent a gift that should arrive soon,” Alicia said. “When you receive something, it’s polite to reciprocate. I’ll take my leave.”

With a formal bow, she departed. A long silence settled over the tea room, and did not soon break.

Though nothing compared to a great magnate’s clout, the Miller barony enjoyed sterling local esteem. They had never made inroads into the capital of Baden, but generation after generation had produced capable heads and talented children—envy of their neighbors. Their manor stood in a fine location, its exterior drawing the eye. It was not enormous, but within a baron’s means it was a house to be proud of.

At a tranquil midday, a line of massive carriages rolled up before the venerable, elegant residence of Baron Miller. From them poured men in black mantles with stiff, high collars. The men radiated a rigid, upright air.

“Encircle the house,” said the lead Inquisitor.

At the order from the Heretic Inquisition, the men fanning out from the carriages ringed the manor. With faces cold and blank, they hefted short spears tipped razor-sharp.

“Open up!”

At their superior’s command, the vanguard smashed the noble house’s gates without warning.

Bang!

Metal clanged on metal with a violent crash.

“What is this—who are you…!”

“Kyah!”

“Where do you think you’re going!”

“Stop them!”

“You people—!”

Sharp, chaotic shouts rose within.

“Find them. All of them!”

Inquisitors flooded the manor. Thick boots trampled the fine carpets. Hard hands flipped tables, then toppled bookshelves in heaps. Every drawer came out. Armchairs and sofas were hurled aside, their bare frames exposed. Private rooms of the Miller family were opened with decisive hands. The baron’s safe. The lady’s jewel box. Doors to the family parlor, the tea room, and the chapel—spaces only the family used—swung wide to show their insides.

“Found one!”

The cry from the family parlor started it.

“Found one!”

The tea room’s elegant tablecloth was snatched away.

“Found one!”

“Agh—my necklace…!”

A rough hand tore away a necklace; on its backside, an engraving showed a heart bound round with a chain.

“Found one!”

An Inquisitor glared in disgust at the painting secretly hidden in the chapel ceiling. The shouts rose from points all through the house. They went on for some time.