Page 40 of Those Fatal Flowers

I return it with a playful shrug as my attention wanders up to the moon. A sense of calm washes over me as I stand on this foreign shore on the eve of my next victory, fingers still intertwined with Cora’s.

How do I know? Because this time, the Fates are finally on mine.

When the meetinghouse’s bell strikes ten, the City of Raleigh will gather to compete for my hand. I still have a few hours to prepare. There’s a chill in my bedroom this morning despite the fire that burns, and Margery fills the bath basin withbucket after bucket of water. The steam swirls into the air, inviting me in, and finally, it’s ready for me.

Margery disappears to prepare Thomas’s breakfast. My eyes flutter closed, and I try to relax into the quiet warmth while I still can. A few moments pass, and the bedroom door creaks back open.

“That was fast,” I say, and the only response is a pregnant silence followed by the door clicking back into its place. My eyes flash open, but the room’s empty. The hair on the back of my neck prickles with alarm.

“Good morning, Master Thomas.” Margery’s voice travels from the stairs. Despite the hot water, my body turns to ice. How long would he have gawked if I’d kept quiet? What would I have done if he tried to come inside? I draw my knees to my chest, instinctively trying to make this weak body smaller. The best way for human women to protect themselves is to hide. To shrink into the background, to not draw attention. My sisters would think me mad if they could see me now, curled in on myself and terrified, desperate for the protection of talons and wings.

A gentle knock startles me. But it’s Cora who slips inside this time.

“Cora.” My voice betrays my surprise. After how much time we spent together on the beach last night, I didn’t expect to see her until today’s festivities.

“I thought you might need help preparing,” she says, her fingers smoothing over her skirts. Is she nervous? “Thomas can be prissy before big events…I expect Margery will be busy doting on him.”

I nod softly, giving her the space to say more, to ask if he’s given any clues to his plans in the short span of hours we’ve been apart. But Cora doesn’t use the opening, and today, we’ll discover if the extra attention she’s been lavishing onhim has worked. My eyes fall away from hers back to the steaming water; I don’t want her to read in my gaze what I suspect will happen.

“Let’s get you dressed.” She holds open a towel for me, and I become acutely aware of my heartbeat, of every single bead of water that rolls down my skin, as I push myself to my feet and will her to look at me. My body aches for her to see me completely bared before her, to take me in, but Cora drops her gaze to the ground and clears her throat. I let her enfold me in the towel’s warmth.

We follow the same ritual I did that first morning, except now it’s Cora’s hands guiding me into the various layers this world requires of its women. Throughout it all, I wish the process were occurring in reverse. My eyes fall closed as she pulls a chemise over my head and straightens it across my shoulders. Although there’s a thin layer of fabric between us,her fingers still burn hot against my skin. I want to turn around and take her into my arms, to kiss their calloused tips.Instead, I remain firmly planted in place with a hand on my stomach to steady myself. Her breath kisses the back of my neck as she tightens the laces of today’s gown, making my toes curl beneath my skirts. What would it feel like for her to whisper my name there, against my skin?

“It’s a beautiful gown,” she murmurs, running the warm peach silk through her fingers. “Agnes may be difficult, but she does have good taste.” The bodice is embellished with flowers, stitched in blues and pinks, their leaves unfurling across my abdomen. Unlike the other dresses I’ve worn here, the sleeves on this gown are fitted, save for the areas immediately over my shoulders, which puff out into two little circles. The skirt underneath is full and accented with gold. Cora motions for me to twirl before her. I laugh, suddenly nervous, but concede. Why is it that fully dressed, I blushbeneath her stare? It doesn’t matter—in this moment, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make her grin, and she does.

It’s a dress made for spring, not for the dreadful beginning of winter, which is probably why Agnes deigned to part with it for this occasion. But the fact that its color is out of season doesn’t bring Cora any comfort—as she watches me, her features take on a strange, resigned expression, and I know suddenly that Agnes has never bothered to shower Cora with such a lavish gift.

I take her hand in mine, desperate to pull her back to me. “How should I wear my hair?”

Cora mulls over my question as she picks up a comb. “Hmm. Down.”

“Really?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. I’ve yet to see a woman here wear her hair freely.

“You look like our Virgin Queen, with your strawberry hair. It’ll excite the men, and besides, it’s so beautiful—it would be a shame to hide it. Now come, let me brush it.”

Color rises to my cheeks at the compliment, but Cora’s thankfully too focused on teasing the tangles from my locks to notice.

Once she’s finished, she pulls a tiny pot of red dye from her apron pocket and touches her finger to the concoction. I start to ask her what it is, but then she brings her painted fingertip to my lips to apply the ruby mixture. Energy courses down my spine; my spirit catches in my throat. I don’t breathe, afraid even the tiniest shift in the air between us will send her running. But it doesn’t. She’s close enough that I can smell the roses on her skin. My mind races, incapable of forming a single coherent thought—there’s only the marvel ofher touch and the overwhelming desire to take that slender finger into my mouth. She steps back to admire her handiwork before I lose myself entirely.

“Well?”

Cora sighs contentedly. “You look perfect.”

Before I can bask in her compliment, Margery comes rushing back into the room, flustered.

“Lady Thelia, I’m so sorry. Sir Thomas required my help— Oh! Cora!” Then her eyes fall to me. Her mouth drops.

“Wow.” The single word is all she can manage. I blush harder.

“Stop, you two! You’re making me nervous!” How strange it is, to almost forget that I’m not who, or what, they believe me to be.

“One of those men is about to become very, very lucky…” Margery sighs, and Cora nods in agreement.

“Well, then,” Cora says. “Let’s go find your future king.”

There is a bite to the morning air, a sharpness that claws down my throat, as if I’m breathing in the salt crystals that form in Scopuli’s rocky tide pools during the hot summer months. Their memory coaxes a smile to my lips. Those afternoons spent collecting the briny granules felt so tedious, and though I noted the swaying starfish, so like their twinkling sisters in the heavens, and the colorful crabs scuttling about, I didn’t appreciate them. Only now, when the kiss of Scopuli’s summer sun feels farther away than it ever has, do I fully understand what I’ve left behind. A light dusting of snow has settled over the City of Raleigh, and stray flakes still fall slowly from above. They catch on my dress as I make my way to the town square. Margery accompanies me, and I catch her stealing glances in my direction. Her movements are stiff, and although this could be a result of the cold, I have a feeling that it has more to do with her nerves. I force my gaze back ahead, afraid that her anxiety might spread to me, likeink in water, if I watch her for too long. Today, I can’t risk being rattled.

Today, I must be strong.

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