Page 88 of Those Fatal Flowers

She lunges for me, and we fall to the floor. Despite her age, she’s strong, and it doesn’t take long for her slender hands to find their way around my throat. She should call for Thomas, now that she has me in her grasp, and I think a part of her knows that. But she can’t resist the urge to choke the life out of me herself.

I anticipated such a reaction, and with a single, swift movement, I jab the fibula’s pin, Cora’s gift, into the side of her neck. Her eyes widen with surprise, and, without thinking, she pulls the brooch from her flesh. A thin line of blood sprays onto the floor, painting the wood crimson.

Agnes slides off me and fumbles around on her hands and knees for something to press against the wound. While she’s distracted, I wander to her bedside table. There, resting atop the gleaming wood, is a slender knife.

“That was for Will,” I say, straddling my legs across her frame to peer down at her. “But this is for me. For those nights you stood by and did nothing to stop your vile son from taking what wasn’t his.”

She looks for me over her shoulder, but I sink the blade into the other side of her throat before she finds me. This time, she knows the blow is fatal. She slumps to the ground, her fingers caressing the handle, too afraid to pull it out.

My hand pushes hers out of the way.

“Don’t,” she pleads. But it’s too late for that—I tug. Her blood paints me, and Agnes chokes on her own sins just like Jaquob did, but this time, I don’t feel compelled to watch. Let her die scared and alone. It’s what she deserves. I wrap myself in Cora’s shawl to hide the worst of Agnes’s mess and exit back onto the deck, into chaos.

Thomas is nowhere to be seen, but he’s clearly given orders. The men who rush past are distracted, too lost in theirassignments to notice as their captive sneaks to the helmsman’s cabin. As instructed, Emme and Cora are posted outside, waiting for the signal to begin. Once they have it, they’ll knock out the helmsman and dropEndurance’s anchor.

“Thelia,” Cora says with a gasp, taking in the crimson on my gown. “Are you hurt?”

“It’s not mine,” I say gently, watching as their expressions shift from fear to surprise. To agree to a revolution in a quiet room is one thing, but to stand before its bloody reality is quite another. What if they change their minds?

But then Emme spits and says, “Good riddance,” and all I can do is smile.

“Are the others in place?”

“Yes,” Cora says. “Elizabeth gathered everyone, and Elyoner and Liz are sealing their ears. When it…when it starts,Rose will give us the signal before joining the others to head for the longboat.”

I nod, an anxious energy thrumming in my gut. All that’s left is to wait for my sisters to make our first move. “Do you have yours in?”

“Not yet, we—”

Emme catches sight of my expression and presses a glob of the light green substance into each of her ears before she turns away to peer through a small window onto the main deck. It’s all the privacy I need.

“Now, please, Cora.”

She looks reluctant, but she concedes.

“Can you hear what I am saying?”

Cora shakes her head no.

I lean forward and kiss her, too painfully aware of all the ways this moment could be our last. Cora’s lips tremble beneath my own.

“Thelia, I—”

“There’s no time, Cora—” I start, but my objection falls on unhearing ears.

“I love you,” she says. “I don’t care what it means for my soul.”

I press my forehead to hers and close my eyes, reveling in her roses one last time. “I love you, too.”

Anticipation carries me across the upper deck toward the longboat. Already, Castle’s spires loom larger on the horizon, and to their right, the elevated cliffs of Scopuli finally rise to join them. There was a part of me that didn’t believe I’d make it home again, and yet here I am, just as Proserpina decreed. My eyes scan the sky for signs of movement. A dark figure dips between the clouds, but it’s only a gull, and my heart sinks.

Hugh Taylor appears around the opposite side of the longboat. He stops in his tracks when he sees me, his eyes flooding with confusion.

“How did you—” He cranes his head to the half deck above, no doubt scanning for Thomas. A dog without his master, unable to create his own orders. I won’t let him ask for them. My hands dive for his arm, fingernails finding purchase in his flesh.

“You bitch!” he growls, yanking out of my grasp. My nails leave bloody trails in their wake, and though he raises a hand to hit me, I can’t help myself—I laugh. “You have no idea what’s coming for you—”

I hear them before I see them. The wind carries their melody, soft at first, over the miles that still lie between us. It’s a haunting sound, wind blowing over a glass, a loon calling across the gloaming. It stops Hugh’s hand midair, and he follows my gaze to the heavens.

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