Page 10 of Those Fatal Flowers

She ate the food of the dead?

Finding her will be impossible now. A whimper escapes from my lips before I can stop it, and the lady’s focus is on me once more.

“You foolish girl!” Ceres shrieks down at me, and I drop my gaze as terror digs its claws into my heart.

“My lady, I’m sorry…!”

“How many times did I warn Proserpina that your”—she sputters, as if she cannot bear to name our relationship—“your childishinfatuationwould hurt her? But she wouldn’t listen!”

Infatuation.The gross simplification of what Proserpina and I shared brings fresh tears to my eyes. Was it merely infatuation all those times she whispered poetry into my ears to soothe me when I was afraid? Merely infatuation that let us learn the languages of each other’s thoughts in the curves of the other’s shoulders? The various cadences of the other’s breath? Until that night, we were a single soul split across two bodies. And now, without her, I am only half of the person I once was. I rise to my monstrous feet, talons scraping against the marble floor. “My lady, Iloveher.”

“And look what that love got her. Imprisonment in a world of death and darkness. How is that fair?” she spits.

“It’s not.”

A flicker of surprise ripples across the ravaged goddess’s features, and for one glorious moment, I believe that maybe, just maybe, Ceres’s fury might soften.

Except, of course, it was Proserpina who could conjure that rare miracle of quelling her mother’s fits. Without her, Ceres’s surprise transforms into a violent rictus grin. “So let’s make it fair, then.”

“My lady, please, Thelxiope didn’t mean to offend…” Pisinoe rises to her feet as well, hands clasped in capitulation, but Ceres raises a palm, and Pisinoe’s plea dies in her throat.

“I banish you three to your own prison. Like Proserpina’s, it will be filled with death and unspeakable darkness. And when I decide I’ve lost pleasure in watching you suffer for what you’ve cost me, you’ll shrivel away slowly, across eons, until there’s nothing left of you but dust.”

“M-my lady…!” Suddenly, I feel every piece of this large, lumbering body, awash in the horror that Ceres means to leave us in them. Means for us to die as monsters.

“And if some mortal hero brings me your heads before then, I’ll hang his image in the stars.” Ceres sits back on her throne, her muscles relaxing as her anger dissipates. Our sentence has brought her peace, which means there will be no reversing it. “Now remove them from my sight.”

Hands with the strength of manacles clamp around my wrists and drag me across the floor.

“No, my lady, please!” Pisinoe pleads.

And Raidne, still prostrating on her knees before the goddess, begs, “Please, my lady, forgive us!”

But Ceres only laughs.

The weight of a hand on my shoulder jolts me awake, and I nearly topple from the wooden chair I’d dragged to the window’s edge.

Margery jumps back. “I’m sorry, my lady! I didn’t mean to frighten you!”

I shake my head to banish the dream and turn my attention to the window, where the wooden shutters remain pushed open. Where I waited desperately for another glimpse of her. Where my traitorous body defied me once more and succumbed to its exhaustion.

Margery steps between me and the view and draws the shutters closed. “It’s time to dress…I let you sleep as long as I could, but we don’t want to be late. Everyone will be waiting.”

This time, she ushers me into multiple layers of garments, naming each component, but my tired mind can’t hold on to them. It’s the emerald gown that sits atop the rest that steals my attention—its fabric buttery beneath my fingertips: silk, no doubt. As soon as my arms are inside the sleeves, Margery laces it closed. A clever way to ensure I’ll never escapewithout her help. She collects my hair in a braid and pins it at the base of my neck, then steps back to admire her handiwork.

Even I can’t deny the final result is breathtaking.

“You look beautiful, Lady Thelia.”

“Are we finished, then?” I ask, hoping desperately that the answer is yes. These clothes are far more complicated than the garments of my youth, and by the time we’re done, the sun has disappeared from the sky, leaving a deep orange stain in its wake. It’s the same hue as the lily I found this summer, and its memory brings a sad smile to my face. If everyone is going to be there tonight, will she? My stomach is suddenly full of wings, and without a task assigned to them, my hands brush out my skirts.

“Almost,” Margery assures me, interrupting my reverie. Inspiration flashes across her eyes, and she arranges my fibulae into my hair. My fingers reach back to brush each dragonfly delicately, thankful for the one piece of familiarity in this entirely foreign, though not wholly uncomfortable, style of dress. Finally, I’m decent.

“Mistress Bailie and Sir Thomas have already left. Let’s join them,” Margery says.

I leave the house for the first time since I was carried into it. The pointed roofs of the surrounding cottages cast sinister shadows that spill onto one another’s walls and into the streets. Can buildings be vicious? These stand at attention, sentinels keen to defend their builders. My stomach twists at the thought. Somewhere in the distance, a blackbird caws, heralding winter’s arrival. I shiver in the gloaming, cheeks flushing with nerves, and look over my shoulder at the Bailie home once more. It’s like all the other cottages here, but the Bailies’ is the only structure that stands two stories tall. Something about the way it towers over all the others is almost perverse, and my gait draws me closer to Margery.

“That’s the meetinghouse.” The maid points to a large building at the end of the street, and I am thankful for the distraction. “It’s where we hold services, but also where we celebrate.”

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