Page 33 of Those Fatal Flowers

Thomas grabs the napkin from his lap and wipes his face, then turns to his mother with a grin. “That sounds like exactly the kind of competition I’d excel at.”

“If you weren’t already happily betrothed,” Mistress Bailie adds, a pale eyebrow raised, though I can’t tell if her admonition is genuine or simply an act for me. The glint leaches from Thomas’s eyes, leaving behind an empty smile that’s somehow worse to behold. The sight of it makes my stomach churn.

“Of course,” Thomas answers coolly, then turns to me again. “When will it be?”

I reach for the glass of wine before me, swirling its contents. That moment of softness with Ambrose, the appearance of my menses—gods, even the jealousy toward Cora’s affections for Thomas. They’re all just distractions, pulling my focus away from my one true purpose.

I can save you,she’d said.But I need more blood.And to give that to her, I need men to follow me to Scopuli.

“In four days’ time. On the next full moon.”

Perhaps its light will bless the endeavor.

“And what happens after you’ve found your husband?” Agnes asks, stumbling, just barely, over the wordhusband. It’s the obvious next question, but that tiny slip of her tongue gives her away—despite what she read in my letter, Agnes is still suspicious of me and my motives. But can I really fault her for that, given her son is what’s at stake?

“I want to return home with him before winter truly sets in. Though he shouldn’t be the only one who joins me—I’ve heard talk of the city’s rations. People say there’s not enough food to keep everyone alive through the season.”

Thomas’s eyes widen with consideration, but Agnes shoots him a cutting look. “We can’t blindly send the entire colony to a place we’ve never been, my lady. And even if we wanted to, the only ship large enough to carry us all returned to England two summers ago. The pinnace that you’ve seen offshore only holds about twenty people.”

Twenty is hardly one hundred, but it’s still enough.

“So send a scouting party to accompany us,” I offer. “If Scopuli passes their assessment, formal plans to move the colony can be made after they return, if winter demands it.”

Agnes strokes her chin, her cold eyes finding Thomas’s.

“We’ll need to discuss the idea with the other Council members,” he says slowly. “But I don’t see a reason why we shouldn’t explore it.”

“After the competition is held, how quickly can we leave?” I ask, my stomach twisting as I prepare myself to flirt. “And would you join us? I’d love to show you my home.”

Especially the hidden sea cave, whose sand will swallow your blood below.

Thomas smirks, and immediately, the biscuit I barely managed to eat threatens to come back up. If Cora heard this, she’d hate me.

So what? You’re not here for her.

Was that my voice, or Proserpina’s?

“Within the week, I imagine. And I’d never decline an invitation to stand at your side.”

I force a soft smile, suddenly exhausted.

“Are you tired, my lady?” Agnes asks. I fear I’ve given myself away once more, but Mistress Bailie’s attention is lockedon Thomas. She wants me gone from this room as much as I want to be.

“Yes, actually. Would you mind if I retired for the evening?”

“Not at all, Lady Thelia. Go rest.” Agnes waves a hand to dismiss me and then slides her chair closer to Thomas’s. Immediately, the two descend into whispers, so lost in their plotting that they barely notice my retreat.

9

Before

For the second day in a row, I wake without pain. But today there’s no joy in this fact, because its absence is tempered by guilt. It conjures the sailor’s image from the shadows, and now that he’s here, all I can do is hide my nerves in a task and pray that Raidne and Pisinoe don’t notice them. I pull myself from my blankets and add some wood to the dying embers in the hearth, then move to prepare tea.

Pisinoe raises her head from her pillow with a smile. “Should we start cleaning the wreckage today?”

The procedure is always the same: collect the scraps of wood and burn them, along with anything else we don’t want, and move the valuables into a sea cave for safekeeping. The work is hard but enjoyable, but that’s beside the point—if we didn’t comb through each wreck, the shore would be so littered with debris that there would be no beach at all. We’d be buried by the ruin.

I hand them each a mug of tea, and we sit before the fireplace, sipping slowly.

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