Page 29 of Those Fatal Flowers

A salty, metallic tang hangs like a cloud over the entire scene. Whether the tinny odor is from the scattered iron nails, chains, and other metal objects from the ship or from the sailors’ blood, I can’t say. Most of the crimson sand is gone already, the violence committed here softened into pale pink by Scopuli’s lapping waves.

I prefer to take stock of each wreck in its entirety before I begin to sift through its subtleties. I move south along the shoreline, dodging the tattered wooden remnants of the ship’s bones. The wreckage gradually thins until eventually, there are hardly any artifacts at all. From here, my sisters are no more than two dots bobbing gleefully in the glow of the rising moon, treasure hunters dancing among the carnage. They’re immune to its horrors as they revel in the comfort of their first full bellies in years and in the knowledge that they won’t go hungry for months. The violence of the day does nothing to stifle the excitement that’s returned to our frames; if anything, it fuels it.

As I consider where to begin, the hair on the back of my neck rises to attention. The sensation stops my feet in the cool sand. My sisters’ laughter, so loud just moments ago, is now muffled. I feel my face pinch with confusion, but then I realize: It’s because of the air. It’s somehow heavier, and there’s a whisper of a scent mingling with the salt and brine that I can’t quite place. When I do, the breath leaves my lungs. It’s sweet, spring soil with the kiss of flowers. The way Proserpina smelled.

I know this feeling: the flutter of anticipation in my stomach, the tingling on my skin. It’s the same way I felt that time, all those years ago, when I heard—

Look.

The sound of Proserpina’s voice crashes into my back with the force of a wave. I’m no match for it, and I stumble forward into the sand. I barely manage to keep myself from falling completely, but the second I find my balance, I whirl around, heart in my throat, half expecting to see her…

But there’s only the empty shoreline.

“Proserpina?” I whisper, but my question is lost on the breeze. I force myself to stand a little taller, and when I speak again, my voice is more assured. “Look where?”

The only answer is the sound of my pounding heart. I stomp around the sand, kicking over pieces of wood, trying to find whatever it is that she wants me to see. It’s just as a curse forms on my lips that I catch sight of an object sitting on the brink of the tide. The waves lap at its edges, as if they’re trying to beckon it back into the depths. What’s it doing so far away from the rest of the ruin? Every part of my body sings with anticipation.

There.I don’t know if it’s she who speaks the word or me.

I approach cautiously, though with night setting in, my eyes can’t identify the mass until I’m nearly on top of it.

It’s a man’s corpse.

The sound of blood rushing through my ears overtakes the sound of the waves. His back is to me, his body coiled into a ball and face half buried in the surf. I press a talon to his shoulder and drag him onto his back. He’s handsome, his face colonized by a bushy red beard peppered with gray. Hisnose is crooked, but a splash of freckles makes the imperfection somehow charming. Significantly chapped lips are barely parted, as if he died hoping for drinkable water that never came. There’s a dark, bloodstained wound behind his left ear that still seeps. I observe his stillness. He looks relatively whole—another piece of meat to burn. My mouth falls open to call for Raidne and Pisinoe.

Don’t.

“Why not?”

A hoarse, desperate cough from the corpse is my answer, and I clamp a hand across my lips to ensure I don’t accidentally disobey Proserpina’s command.

This man is alive.

As if to underscore my revelation, he hacks up seawater all over himself. It splashes at my feet, and I recoil.

No one else lived. They drowned in the current or were shredded by coral before the sea deposited them on the beach. How did he survive the gauntlet? How does he continue to draw breath now?

He groans and reaches a weak, quaking hand toward me, but I step away before he can make contact. His clothes are in tatters, and his body is covered with gashes. Some look severe. He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t already have an infection.

I look north to my sisters’ whirling silhouettes.A sacrifice!I should scream.I found a sacrifice!Instead, my voice lodges itself in the back of my throat and doesn’t budge.

“What do you want me to do with him?” I whisper, desperate for an answer. The longer the silence grows, the more dread pools in my stomach.

My body moves of its own accord, driven by the desire—no, theneed—to hear her voice again. It’s as if I’m watching from above as a chimera of raptor and woman drags the battered man into one of Scopuli’s sea caves. Not the ritual cave, but a smaller grotto embedded in the cliffside. As soon as we’re tucked away inside the tiny alcove, my mind has a chance to catch up with my actions.

What am I doing? I should be signaling to Pisinoe and Raidne; we must offer him to Ceres—

As soon as her name materializes, I taste venom in the back of my throat. Ceres isn’t listening. How many centurieshave we already wasted performing sacrifices in her name, only to be met with hateful silence in return? The lily, the ship—this man, whoever he is, was sent by Proserpina. He’s important; whether a gift, a message, or a warning, I don’t know yet, but I’ll keep him alive long enough to find out. Until her purpose reveals itself, he’s mine.

His breath is shallow and labored, rattling his chest as he exhales, but a sense of urgency tugs me away. If I’m gone much longer, Pisinoe and Raidne will trace my steps in the sand and discover my secret.

“I don’t know if you can hear me, sailor, but if you value your life, don’t stray from this spot. You’re safe here, and I’ll come back for you in the morning.”

He stirs but doesn’t wake. I leave him there, slumped against a boulder.

As I head back up the beach, I try to shake the nerves from my trembling hands.

My darling Proserpina, what will you have me do?

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