Upon reaching Ahsara Lucen saw no grandeur nor festivities. Not that there were none, but rather of his own stubborn avoidance. As soon as the military ship touched the palace harbour, he sent adjutant Lyall away with a message of his arrival and disappeared.

There was something he needed to do. Before it was too late, before the lingering traces of warmth leaves him forever. So away he ran into the night, donned in a commoner’s suit, tattered and worn yet  did little to mask a prince’s stature. 

The night air was bitingly chilly yet the night life of the capital city was only beginning to awaken. Wherever one tarried, the corners of the night were kindled in bright opal fire. Be it man or creature, in each and every alley the fragrant arms of song and dance beckoned them.

Lucen’s gaze was trained upon the distance city wall. He had a destination in mind. With only a vague rumour as a compass, he travelled further into the brightly lit streets, forgoing the searching eyes of the palace’s shadows. Strangely he could not find it in himself to care, for if he failed to achieve what he had set out to do tonight, then what little reason he remained sane would be gone.

Many doors and windows upon the border street were open, peeking out from within were the bejewelled faces of minstrels, golden and dazed. Lucen averted his eyes. Though he had many times before traversed these streets, his eyes had always remained upon Neven. Lucen’s face soured at the memory, how unpleasant it is that he must be haunted by that person even now. Even now. . . Lucen brought the gloved hand to his face and breathed in, the faint scent of bleeding winter dissipated weakly into the wind. 

At last he came upon a shop, bursting with the fragrant sights of an elysian garden. Grounds lush with silene and flowering moss, boughs heavy with lanterns of opal and swaying buds. Upon them, dressed in violets and autumnal ambers sat minstrels, playing soft tunes of strings and flute. 

This seemed to be the perfumery.

Suddenly Lucen lingered by the gate, hands clenched. Once he passes this doorway. . . everything would be lost. The forest bathed in blood, the stained patterns of snowflake and dew, the little unresponsive wisp. The second prince was never coming back. Yet this was the only way for him to hold on, to the hands that brushed softly against his, to the face that rested meekly upon his knees, to the evading gaze behind the veil. 

Lucen’s hands dropped limply to his sides. 

As he entered the courtyard, the harmonious atmosphere of the perfumery ceased. Unabashedly was he struck with the cold stares of the discontent minstrels. There were many handsome lechers that treaded into the perfumery grounds. One dancer stood up, covering his face with a violet veil and slipped through the cracks of the lit corridors, to inform Lady Lilia of another troublesome customer.

Lucen looked around and bowed before the eaves of a blossoming vine. Yet under the open door his path was blocked. Before him stood a woman, standing a few feet below him, from her hair to the lace hem of her red dress, she was clad in woven flowers. A faint trace of winter wafted in the air.  Lucen blinked, taking a few steps back defensively. 

The woman looked up at him with a gritted smile, “ May I help you sir?”


Young, sharp and with purpose. Lilia knew this kind. And it was better to stop them before they tainted her perfumery with their debauchery. 

Lucen wrung his gloved hands and looked at her sharply, “ I wish to have a perfume refined”

Lilia’s brow lifted and her eyes narrowed, “ Well then” she swung her sleeve towards the door, “ Please follow me”


Lilia nodded to those gathered about and tunes of soft string once again began flowing serenely through the perfumery. Lucen was led through a dizzying maze of corridors and rooms. From within each room, distinct and pure fragrances flowed past them. And at its end, they emerged to a courtyard lush with blossoms of rose and wisteria.

Lilia excused herself for a moment. “ Just a moment sir” she bowed, disappearing behind an aged crimson door.

Lucen sighed, placing his hands carefully in his pockets, and looked up towards the moon. The blue moon had long faded, tonight the sky was bright with glimmering starlight and the distant blazes of the siren’s aurora. Even though he could no longer hear their lamenting harmonies, with each rise and fall of its form a terrible pain shot through his heart.


The higan blossoms of the courtyard swayed gently. The night wind was cold. But Asael was wrapped warmly in Lilia’s robes. He and Sarel sat upon a bench, obscured  from view by bushes of rose and forsythia. Sarel placed half of a pomegranate on his palm and Asael gently peeled each aril from it’s skin, pressing  them with his lips, savouring the sweet sap. 

“ Ah!”  Sarel gasped, shoving a handful of seeds into his mouth, for every two  Asael ate, the former had already finished half a fruit. He pointed to the rustling of a forsythia bush nearby. “ A blue bird!. Strange it is not yet spring. . .  has the little bird forgotten to fly south for the winter?”

A blue bird the size of a bud, hopped out of the bush and picked up a fallen aril in its mouth. Asael’s eyes fell upon it’s small furry head, where a drop of snow melted to dew. It seemed that the messenger had recently returned from Araya. It tarried about the wet grass, hungrily picking off arils as it inconspicuously drew near to Asael. And in a moment when Sarel’s eyes diverted to the sky or the perfumery gardens, it slipped into Asael’s dress pocket.


“ Oh it’s gone again” Sarel sighed, turning back from the clamour of the front gardens.


“ It flew away” Asael lied woefully.


Sarel hummed, closing his eyes and turning towards the sky. The clouds above them shuddered with thunder and a soft patter of rain fell upon their faces.

“ Oh no!” Sarel jumped to his feet, “ Your wounds! Come let us hurry inside or else Lady Lilia will have my head!”  

Sarel quickly pulled Asael’s robes over his head and grabbed both their shares of fruit. Asael’s steps were slow and staggered. And as he stepped onto the corridor, half his robes had gotten drenched. He shivered.  Sarel’s brows knitted in worry.

“ Now sit here” he brought Asael to a bench “ It is unwise to cross the gardens in the rain at this time, but I will bring a towel. Be good and wait for me okay?”



Asael hummed, smiling politely as he nimbly focused back on the pomegranate on his hands. 

The night at the perfumery was akin to day at Araya. Lamps and torches of fire opals were uncovered by the grounds, kindling the grounds and the streets below in soft golden light. Asael gazed at his chest, a phoenix’s tear. . . in the overflowing aureate of the night, it’s glow had dimmed and the state of his being looked weary and worse.

Still Asael looked to the sky. He did not want to  back. Being surrounded by four walls, where darkness spilled at the bay of a brazier’s fire. Just for a little while he hoped to remain in a night that did not wish to swallow him whole.

A drop of rain fell on his eyes, Lucen blinked, looking up. When had it started raining?

As his breath froze before him a worker emerged from the courtyard, running away with a handful of pomegranates and robes. The lady who had brought him to the courtyard had still not returned.The front gates were in turmoil.  The harmonies and the chiming strings clashed and stopped as the minstrels ran to find shield from the rain.

As he moved out of the way, a familiar scent of winter and aureate trickled past him. Lucen brought a gloved hand to his face and inhaled, it was the same scent.

Finally a few steps away, a door opened and Lilia peered out, and  she seemed rather surprised to find him waiting without any trouble or complaint.

“ I apologise for the delay good sir, please come in” She bowed graciously, opening the red door behind her.

Lucen was brought into a small room void of scent and fragrance and the lavish sights present outside.  It’s windows opened up to a second courtyard, with a small trickling fountain and a higan tree. 

Lilia sat opposite to him and smoothed her dress, then she placed a pot of tea before them and poured Lucen a cup. 

“ The sir wishes to refine a perfume of your choice?’ Lilia asked, dipping a glass pen in a flower shaped vial of ink. 

Lucen nodded, “ Yes . . .”


“ Then does the sir carry with him an object containing the scent or perhaps a vial with its remaining essence?” 

Lucen hesitated fearing for a moment that the woman before him had come to steal away the remnants of that soft memory. That which now, only existed seeped into the ridges of own hands. As the gloves came off a pair of bloodied hands was placed before Lilia. Her fingers tightened around the pen.

“Floral apple like. Chamomile?” She deduced easily. Then her brow raised, was this not blood? What sort of horrid chance was this? Had she let in a murderer to her perfumery? She gazed once more at the refined features of Lucen. The gentle brow upon his face was knitted in days of worry, the life in his soft eyes dimmed as the second ticked by.  Yet beyond the sunken appearance the youth carried with him an air of stillness, as if every breath of movement commanded unwavering attention of the passersby. Which noble house had this young master hailed from? What trouble had he run from?


“ Can it be replicated?” Lucen asked anxiously. 

“ It can be . . .” Lilia smiled reassuringly, then she wrote her notes. “ The perfume shall be prepared within two weeks. The guest may be asked to come and retrieve it, and if the final product is not to the guest’s liking or requires a change in recipe, then it shall require more time”


Such a sort time. How could such a precious thing be replicated in two weeks? 

“ Please. . .” Mist gathered in Lucen’s eyes, his voice shook. “ Please refine it with outmost care. . . this is my last keepsake. . .  of the one I love” 

Lilia was surprised at last. The pen pressed against her words, blue ink seeped into the layers of scarlet paper. Today was the first time that anyone had placed bloodied hands upon her table. She cursed herself silently, regretful of her thoughts. And to think that this was their last keepsake. No wonder his eyes did not go astray, no wonder he awaited with such persistence. To be so young and to lose the one he loved. . . 

Lilia bowed. “ It  shall be prepared with outmost care. . . please do not worry”