‘You can paint me, young mythographer. But first, there’s the matter of Freya’s present. If you get me something, I’ll give it to you.’
‘Get you what?’ Nicole asked. ‘A gift?’ Nicole dug out the list of items her family could give and Kyan had offered.
‘No gift. A flower.’
Nicole blinked.
‘I’m waiting for the catch,’ Remi said, her suspicions back.
Something like a smile flickered on the Muse’s iconic mouth. ‘That’s all I can tell you, I’m afraid. It’s glass. And I want it back.’
A – aflower?
A glass flower.
It wasn’t what she’d expected, and Nicole found herself strangelydisappointed. She’d never heard of anything like it before. Was there something in the museum? Perhaps the gallery?
‘Did someone take it from you?’ Nicole asked, reaching into her satchel to pull out her notebook. ‘Who? When?’
The Muse laughed a single breathy note, despite the fact Nicole realised the woman wasn’t breathing at all.
‘I’m afraid I cannot say more. You must be tested, after all. This knowledge cannot be handed out to just anyone. Some powerful Empyreals can change their faces.’ Her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. ‘You may just look like Freya. Kyan may have been deceived into giving you my key. Thus, a true mythographer’s daughter should be able to figure out Freya’s masterpiece in blood.’
A prickle of anticipation danced along the back of Nicole’s neck at the phrasing.
Not only did it mean they were in the right place, but the blood in the portrait was what was tying this mystery together. Based on the Muse’s use of the term ‘mythography’, that meant the clue must be hidden in art.
So, was this flower painted?
‘How do we know you’ll give us what we came for?’ Remi asked.
A flash of anger like a sudden blot of amber daubed in the Muse’s eyes. ‘Because I have always protected the secrets of artists. But this one – it’s like a butterfly, battering itself against a window. I worry it will soon break against the glass.’
Nicole frowned. Was she worried that the secret, if not shared, would die? Be lost to time?
‘Thank you,’ Nicole said, rising.
‘May the Túatha Dé guide you.’
Remi stilled as Nicole did, and Nicole turned with a question in her eyes.
The Muse’s head tilted slowly in interest. ‘The Túatha Dé are the gods of the arts, after all. Did your father not tell you the old stories?’ The Muse made a disapproving sound, before offering something as if from nowhere. ‘For Freya.’
Nicole blinked at the delicate poppy, its blood-red petals thin and silky. ‘Thank you,’ she said, taking it gently.
‘And, my girl, do not resist the temptation so much. Too much longing is bad for the heart.’ She tapped her own with a whisper-softpat, her nails long and perfectly pointed. ‘Indulgence is one of the pleasures of being alive. And,love—’ She almost sighed. ‘One of thepurest.’
There was no smile on her face, only the glint in her eyes: a type of dark wakefulness. How much shesaw, but didn’t get to see.
‘Oh, and if you find my flower, and I send you back on your way with your treasured information, come back when it’s all over. I’ve been waiting for someone to send me a new painter.’
When they reached the bottom of the stairs and opened the door, the fresh warm air and brightness of the street nearly made Nicole wince. She felt the wards tug as they stepped out.
‘I want to let her out,’ Nicole said quietly.
‘I know, me too,’ Remi said. ‘Maybe once this is over, once—’
Once the Wake is gone, Remi meant. Maybe then the Muse could be free. Maybe she could live with Verin and Elisabetta. But would that not be another cage? Another ‘house of water’ for her to quietly drown in? The strange phrase turned around in Nicole’s mind as she nodded in agreement.
