Page 44 of Those Fatal Flowers

Movement in the shadows pulls me from my thoughts. It’s Thomas, emerging from the darkness. The mask of happiness he wore before the crowd is gone. In its place is something sinister. He staggers as he approaches, and the scent of alcohol hits me before he’s within arm’s reach. Whatever he’s drinking is stronger than the ale being served inside.

“You were mine,” he growls, reaching out for me. I take a step back to dodge his touch. “And then that bastard—”

“Beat you,” I finish for him. “We weren’t destined to be, Master Thomas.”

“Bullshit,” he sneers. “No one else here deserves you. They’re all peasants, the dregs of society forced to come here because they had no other options back in England. My father was one of the men chosen to lead this sorry lot with me as his successor, and Iwillmake it profitable.”

“Funny,” I say, a smile creeping onto my lips, “I heard your father decided you weren’t fit to lead.”

He pins me against the meetinghouse so hard that the wooden wall scratches my back through my chemise, bodice, overdress, and cloak. My heart beats wildly in my chest; I haven’t felt this particular fear—the sense of dread that comes with knowing that you are weak, that you are the prey—since that night those first sailors bound our wrists and plotted our demise. The type of fear known only to us deemed lesser, when the powerful decide to take what they want from us by force.

And this time, I have no song to save me. I’m as helpless as Proserpina was that fateful night, all those years ago. Terror courses through my veins as Thomas presses his body harder into mine. I speak so much of justice, but what about the justice owed to me? Was my curse truly penance enough for Proserpina’s fate, or was all of this—the human form, the ability to leave Scopuli, the loss of my magic—meant only to bring me here, to this exact moment, so that Thomas can take me as forcefully, as brutally, as Dis took her? I close my eyes, desperate to recoil from his hot, sour breath, but there’s nowhere to escape to, though even I can’t deny that this is exactly what I deserve.

“Enough, Thomas,” a sharp female voice scolds, and Thomas releases me like a retriever drops a duck at its master’s feet. My eyes snap open, shocked at the sudden cold that replaces Thomas’s closeness. Agnes stands behind him, arms folded across her chest and a dark look plastered across her features. For the briefest moment, I think that she’ll scold him for his vile behavior, but it isn’t disgust that paints her delicate features. It’s irritation. His boorishness offends her, not his actions, as if he merely trampled her favorite flowers. “Leave us.”

Thomas growls like an animal, but he listens to her, trudging from the meetinghouse’s glow into the shadows and out of sight. My heart still beats like a caged bird, and I watch the spot where the darkness swallows him, but the rebuked man does not return.

“My son can be impetuous when he drinks,” she explains, as if this is a valid explanation for restraining a woman against her will. I look up at her incredulously, but she continues before I can retaliate. “Pay him no mind.”

“Thelia?” Will rounds the corner and finds us both standing there. “Ah, Mistress Bailie, good evening!”

“Good evening, Will,” she nearly sings, her voice now sweet. The quickness with which she can shift between personalities is something to behold. “I was just saying good night to Lady Thelia.”

“Retiring so early?”

“Someday you’ll be as old as me. Then you’ll understand.” She winks at him before taking a few steps back from us both. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, you two! What a handsome match you make.”

If Will hears the venom that coats her words, his face doesn’t betray it. In fact, he smiles after her affectionately, as if he were watching his own mother retreat. Only once she’s gone does Will notice my expression and ask, “Is everything all right?”

“Thomas,” I say, and Will’s eyes darken.

“I knew he’d be upset,” he admits. “But I needed to do something. For Cora.” Shame swells in my gut—of course. Will had no intention of competing for my hand until his sister’s future demanded it.

“Be careful, Will,” I warn. “He was furious. I worry what he might do.”

“Thomas is my oldest friend,” he says. As he speaks of him, his eyes soften, despite everything he knows. “He’s petulant and spoiled, certainly, but he just needs to drink this off. He’ll take a few days to lick his wounds, but then he’ll be all right. We settled our differences in the ring. That’s where they’ll stay.”

I chew on my bottom lip, unsure of what exactly to say next.

“I hope you’re right.”

It’s all that I can muster because I know that he’s not.

Overhead, the moon glitters as brilliantly as a diamond. The sight should bring elation, but as Will and I stand bathedin her ethereal light, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m on the brink of losing everything.

Will’s prediction about Thomas proves true enough. The day following the challenge, I barely see him at all. I wake early to join him for the Council meeting, but instead I find a flustered Margery in the kitchen.

“Where’s Master Thomas?”

“Gone already.” Her face is pinched with worry.

“What’s wrong?”

“Have you looked outside yet?”

I shake my head, and Margery tilts her chin toward the back door. “Go see.”

Light spills inside, so bright that it blinds me. In this moment of weakness, the air, now far colder than last night’s, rushes forward and snaps my skin between its teeth. The combined effect is disorienting, and several breaths pass before shapes begin to form in the wall of white that my vision’s become—the City of Raleigh is covered in snow, its harsh edges softened beneath a glittering white blanket. Smoke curls from the top of each cottage’s chimney, and the scent of burning pine hangs heavy in the air. All the while, large, wet flakes continue to fall from the heavens.

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