Page 55 of Those Fatal Flowers

But the gods are cruel; our question goes unanswered. The loud thuds of Thomas’s footsteps on the stairs shatter our fragile sanctuary, and the next thing I know, we’re cleaved apart.

The haze of desire clears from Cora’s eyes as quickly as a curtain lifting. “God have mercy,” she whispers. “What was I thinking?”

I don’t answer her—I can’t. It’s hard to breathe, my one small comfort that she’s still in my arms, until she suddenly isn’t. She quite literally slips through my fingertips. One moment, my palms rest on her hips, and the next, she’s gone, bounding toward the door like a hound called to its master.

“Cora, wait!”

But she doesn’t. The knot of desire in my stomach unfurls into nausea, and I watch, helplessly, as she throws open the door to him.

“There you are, Thomas!” she coos. The taste of bile in my throat brings a hand to my mouth.

I hear Thomas’s voice before I see him. “Cora! What keeps you here to such an hour?”

“I was waiting for Will. I know he often visits Lady Thelia before returning home for the evening.”

She stumbles, just barely, over the wordvisits,as if she doesn’t want to think about what such rendezvous entail. I marvel at the incredible mess of it all: Thomas openly vying for my hand despite his betrothal to Cora, Will and I finding solace in our friendship as we long for others, and, somehow, Cora lusting for me.

“He isn’t here, sweet one. He took John Chapman home from the tavern about an hour ago.”

Cora sighs with relief and turns back to look at me. The stare that contained a universe moments ago has chilled. She’s waiting to see if I’ll somehow give us away. I don’t know what hurts more: the fact she worries that I’m foolish enough to call her back to me now, or the way her trembling bottom lip begs me not to. From over her shoulder, a smirk crawls across Thomas’s lips. Something about it is wrong, and now dread rises from my depths to keep my hurt company.

“Shall I walk you home?” he asks, and Cora pivots to him again. When she takes his hand, it requires all my self-control to swallow down a gasp. The sight of it makes my cheeks burn as if I’ve been slapped.

“That would be lovely, Thomas. Good night, Thelia.”

My name at the end of her farewell catches me by surprise. The statement is a dismissal, one that I’d hoped she’d give to Thomas. I smile weakly, trying to conceal the bright bloom of pain the action stirs.

“Good night, Cora,” I respond, and then add more coldly, “Thomas.”

The hallway shadows swallow them both. I’m tempted to peer after them to see if Cora looks back for me, but I can’thandle the very real possibility that she doesn’t. Tears blur my vision as I pull the door shut behind them.

There was a time not long ago when I was certain that I’d never allow someone into my heart without Proserpina’s explicit permission. Was this near-kiss a punishment for that transgression? Proserpina was never jealous as a girl, but so many other gods carefully track their worshippers’ affections, and straying to another is a punishable offense. But I didn’t intentionally open the door for Cora—somehow she found her way inside a locked chamber without a key.

“Scold me, then,” I hiss into the flames. “Say something to me, anything at all. Please, Proserpina.”

But if my beautiful queen hears me now, she doesn’t make a sound.

I wake to loud, frantic banging. In the fog between sleep and wakefulness, my mind goes to the city’s palisades. To what they’re meant to protect us from. Could the reckoning the colonists fear be upon us? I pull myself to my feet, fingers massaging my sore muscles. I fell asleep on the floor before the fire, and my body screams at me now for my carelessness. The knocks continue as I collect my hair beneath a coif. Dawn breaks over the horizon, but the house is still dark. There’s barely enough light to guide me from the bedroom, down the twisted steps, through the kitchen, and on to the front room. Behind me, I hear Mistress Bailie stirring.

“One moment!” Margery shouts to the person outside, already at the door. Heavier footsteps falling upstairs indicate that Thomas is awake as well. Both he and his mother descend as Margery undoes the wooden latch.

A blast of cold air greets us. Cora and her father stand on the threshold, tears frozen against their reddened faces as ifthey’re gilded with frost. Master Waters opens his mouth to speak, but he’s interrupted as a violent coughing fit erupts from deep within his chest. It’s so forceful that I fear each hack will bring up pieces of his lungs. Margery immediately ushers them inside, and when Master Waters stumbles, she rushes forward to catch him, supporting his weight as he works through the fit. The last time I saw him out of his bed was at the Yuletide celebration weeks ago. The realization makes my stomach twist. Something terrible has brought them here.

“Master Waters!” Margery exclaims, eyes wide with alarm. “You should be in bed, look at you—”

“Will,” he gargles, and my heart sinks.

I turn to look back at Thomas, breath catching in my throat. He’s standing in the kitchen, little more substance than a shadow. The light from Agnes’s candle doesn’t reach him, but its flame still flickers in his eyes. The effect sends dread skittering across my skin.

“What about him?” Mistress Bailie asks.

“H-he’s missing!” The old man clings to Margery. She’s too thin to support him for long, and he soon sinks to the floor. “Something must have happened!”

“Did you try the Chapmans’?” Thomas steps forward to lift Master Waters back to his feet. “John was a mess last night, and Will walked him home.”

“We went this morning, Thomas,” Cora says. Her eyes are frantic. “John doesn’t remember how he got home, but Alis said she never saw Will. None of their children did, either. We’ve searched everywhere! He’s not in the village!”

“Please, calm yourselves!” Mistress Bailie chides, albeit sincerely. “Especially you, Richard. You’ll only make your condition worse if you don’t relax. I’m sure Will is all right. Why wouldn’t he be?”

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