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Ginkgo. Valerin. Rosemary. Mint. And, of course, eucalyptus, Isolde’s signature scent.
Combined, they smell like confusion. Boredom. Sadness.
I’m not surprised to see Isolde is already here—if Gran and I are visiting the greenhouse, she’s sure to have something to do with it. But I haven’t seen much of her lately—it’s a big house, after all, and she’s not exactly made the best choices of late.
She has her back to us, standing in front of the long wooden table that lines the far glass wall, and she’s wearing the coarse gray dress that I’ve only ever seen her wear in this room. Everywhere else, it’s shiny silks and satin.
Gran motions me to stop as she walks over to her, muttering something in her ear. After several seconds of listening, Isolde looks back at me with a start. She nods at Gran, and I watch with alarm as my grandmother shuffles out of the room without looking back at me once.
As soon as she’s gone, Isolde’s imposing voice rings out. “Henrietta, come help me grind the dianthus for your tea.”
I scurry toward her, standing at attention as she fills a mortar with dried pink flowers. Like many omegas, she’s been slow to age and looks much the same as she has for my entire life—shining sable hair, a perfect oval face, and almond-shaped green eyes.
Despite the difference in coloring, she looks the most like Noah out of all the Sage siblings.
The thought sends a sharp pain to my heart as she wordlessly pushes a stone mortar toward me. I automatically reach for it and start grinding the pestle against the dried petals—careful not to grind them too finely, just as I’ve always been instructed.
She does the same, and it’s not until we’ve both been grinding for a couple minutes that she speaks.
“I heard you had a rough week.”
I nod, keeping my eyes downcast. Submissive. “I’m sorry I missed work.”
“You deserved the break. Did you enjoy it?”
“Yes, I…” I drop my pestle as a sudden surge of emotion erupts inside me—my ghost.
I was miserable, bored, and pining over an alpha who won’t even look me in the face, a voice screeches from inside me. Does that sound enjoyable to you?
“It was …very nice,” I whisper unsteadily. “Thank you.”
Suddenly, she stops grinding and pushes her mortar away loudly. Scoffing, she turns to face me.
I stare down at the scuffed and scratched wooden table as her gaze holds me hostage. It’s almost as if she knows what’s really going on inside me … everything the ghost said.
“I always thought you looked so much like your mother,” she surprises me by saying, her voice sharp. “But with your hair visible, it’s less apparent—she had brown hair.”
My head darts up as she reaches out and runs her fingers down my long braid. The next words run out of my mouth quickly and thoughtlessly, like a waterfall.
“What color eyes did she have? Blue like mine? What about my father?”
The silence is deafening as she drops her hand, studying me for several seconds before saying, “You’ve always been very special to me, Henrietta. Like a second daughter.”
“Oh…” I swallow a lump in my throat. “Th-thank you, ma’am.”
“I still remember the day your grandmother brought you here—a sunny morning in May. You were such a calm, quiet baby. Not fussy like Stella. When Bryn died, I—” She releases a shaky breath. “I couldn’t believe it. Your mother and I were the best of friends as girls.”
I pull back, surprised. “You were?”
She nods and smiles faintly. “You may think me a fine, fancy omega, but we Ambrettes weren’t very well off—certainly not as well-to-do as the Sages. Our house was all the way at the end of Spruce Street, and Tansy and Bryn were our only beta servants.”
Her eyes glazing, she stares over my shoulder as if she’s watching the scenes from the past play out behind her eyes.
“When I was younger, no one noticed that my only friend was an insignificant beta servant,” she murmurs softly. “But as I got older and grew into my beauty, everyone noticed me…” She looks at me again, her eyes hardening. “Including Carson Sage.”
I’ve never heard Isolde speak like this before. It’s easy to believe that she’s always been this person—this pristine, image-obsessed omega who’s so callously willing to dispose of people who interfere with her reality.
But she lived on Spruce Street? And her best friend was a beta servant? My mother?
