Page 49 of Those Fatal Flowers

He raises his glass, and the room joins him in the next round to finish the song. Thomas pulls himself from the stump and invites another to take his seat. Will steps forward, and everyone hollers and claps for him, despite the darkness that flickers between the two. The black eye that Thomas gave him has finally healed, but a deeper rift remains. Thomas has been cold to Will. Not in an obvious way, but it’s now Hugh Taylor whom he seeks to accompany him into the woods to hunt. It’s Charles Florrie who joins him in the tavern to drink. It’s Mauris Allen who’s constantly sidled up beside him. I’ve tried to broach the topic with Will, but he dismisses my concerns.

“He didn’t like losing in public,” he says. “But he’ll come around eventually.”

When Will starts to sing, his notes melt my anxiety away, replacing it with a stubborn sense of pride. His voice is betterthan Thomas’s, and relief that he won my hand washes over me.

No, he didn’t,a nagging voice scolds. I press my index finger and thumb to the bridge of my nose to steady my thoughts. How have I done it again? Will isn’t my betrothed, I’m not a princess, and my only reason for being here is to survive until spring so these men will follow me home. But the longer I’m in the City of Raleigh, the easier it is to forget.This life, so unencumbered by ancient curses, mythical beasts, and angry, vengeful gods, is starting to feel more and more real.

But it’s not. Not for me.

I have a debt that must be paid, and its price is blood. When the weather breaks and we sail for Scopuli, my betrothed will die alongside Thomas. And though my heart breaks for Cora and Will both, I can’t see a way out of this.Perhaps I’m the one who’s truly damned after all, and I’m too foolish to see it.

I take a large sip of warm wine, trying to push these thoughts from my mind and enjoy myself. Will makes that easy, his voice deep and rich. Like Thomas, he retires from his wooden throne after one tune, and the rest of the villagers take turns singing their favorite carols. Only once everyone is good and drunk do the men roll the log toward the large fireplace and set it ablaze. The meaning of today’s spectacles is entirely lost on me.

Emme, halfway through her latest mug of spiced wine, finds me. She laughs sweetly as she pulls me into an embrace. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” I whisper into her frizzy hair and produce a tiny present from my skirts. After the challenge, Mistress Bailie reluctantly gave me the key to the locked room where they put my treasure for safekeeping. With Will as the official winner of my hand, she lost the pretense of protecting it, though she did insist I ask Will’s permission before removing anything. When I broached the topic of giving gifts to some of the women over supper with the Bailies last night, Will simply laughed.

“We’re not married yet, my lady. Those are your riches, not mine.”

Rage ignited Agnes’s features for the span of a breath, but though she regained her composure quickly, I still saw the crack. I could’ve kissed Will for that alone, if there weren’t already a pair of petal-soft lips haunting me from across the table—a pair that was curled into a smile for someone else. Cora, distracted by Thomas, missed my victory over Agnes. My mood curdled for the remainder of the meal. Later that evening, I took great care sorting through the wealth, happy for the distraction of finding the perfect gift for each newfriend, though the glimmering of gemstones and gold paled in comparison to Cora’s radiance. What a fool Thomas is for not seeing that.

A sapphire for Emme, a ruby for Rose, an emerald each for Margaret and Wenefrid. Gold bracelets for the young mothers, Elyoner and Elizabeth. An opal for Liz, and a golden necklace with a large lapis lazuli stone for Margery. She nearly cried when she opened it earlier this afternoon, clasping the chain around her neck and hiding it beneath the collar of her dress. Although it went unsaid, we both understand it’s best not to flaunt the gift in front of Agnes.

Emme’s eyes sparkle with an intensity to rival the jewel’s when she opens the small pouch, tears welling in them.

“Oh, Lady Thelia…It’s beautiful.”

“Come now,” I tease, bumping my shoulder into hers. “It’s just Thelia.”

When Emme looks up to meet my stare, she’s twinkling as bright as Venus.

Will slides behind me and smiles at her over my shoulder. Emme kisses the top of my head as if to say,Go on, then,and I laugh as Will extends a hand to invite me to dance. I still don’t know the steps, but this doesn’t faze him. He pulls me across the room in a series of spins and whirls, and we both erupt into laughter until the song ends and deposits us before the head table. Cora’s there, alongside Thomas, a soft smile splashed across her lips as she watches us. Our eyes lock, and my fingers tingle with the desperate urge to reach for her, to invite her to join me here, but she winks and turns back to Thomas, lacing her fingers into his. A twinge of jealousy slithers up my back, but I’m not alone: Will’s watching them as well.

It seems we both want what we cannot have.

“I need some air,” I say, squeezing Will’s hand before releasing it.

“Mind if I join you?” he asks with a sadness in his eyes, in the corners of his mouth, that he thinks he’s hiding.

I retake his hand in mine. “Come on, then.”

The night plants frigid kisses on my cheeks, but they sting less than watching Cora fawn over Thomas. Despite the cold these past weeks, she’s still sought me out to walk along the beach with her, dangers be damned. At first, our conversations centered around the Bible stories she’d read to me, but those inevitably led to more spirited discussions. And in all those hours spent together sharing abbreviated histories and hopes with each other, she never spoke of Thomas.

But she also kept the conversation lighthearted. There was never an excuse to reach for her hand again.

“How long have you loved him?” I say after a time, bringing my mug of spiced wine to my lips.

Will nearly chokes on his. “I— Excuse me, my lady?”

Those eyes, so like his sister’s that I could cry, are wide with shock. I give him a sad, knowing smile, and though he breaks his gaze away from mine, the tension in his jaw and shoulders melts away, leaving a softer Will before me.

“We’ve known each other since we were children. We’re like brothers.” His voice cracks on the last word, and I risk a hand on his shoulder. This moment is delicate, so much like the light snow that falls from above—beautiful and ephemeral, at the risk of melting into nothing if pushed too quickly. “He wasn’t always…like this. But I don’t know exactly when he changed.”

“Is it hard to see them together?”

He shoots me a mournful look. “You tell me.”

“There you both are!” Cora’s sparkling voice splits Will and me apart. Her eyes linger on our reddened cheeks and our guilty faces. “Supper is about to start.”

---