Page 65 of Those Fatal Flowers

“Last night Master Thomas went to speak with Master Richard—”

“Why?”

“I’m trying to tell you, Lady Thelia!”

I bite my tongue and motion for her to continue.

“He ended his engagement to Cora.”

Despite being seated, I cling to the table for support; I can’t breathe. I knew this moment was coming, but I hoped Thomas and Mistress Bailie would have the decency to wait. Will hasn’t yet been buried a week.

“Master Waters was devastated…he tried to throw Master Thomas out on the streets but was too weak to do so. Even still, he made quite the commotion.” She pauses for a moment, as if considering whether she should continue. “People are saying he did it so he could marry you, Lady Thelia.”

I push myself up from the table so abruptly that my bowl clatters onto the ground with a loud bang, but thankfully doesn’t shatter.

“Damnit!” I curse, before dropping to my knees to clean up the gruel that’s splattered across the packed dirt floor.

“It’s all right, let me…” Margery places a warm hand on my shoulder, and tears spring to my eyes at the kindness of the gesture. I look up at her, trying to will them away before they can spill over my cheeks. I don’t succeed.

I’ve been here for only a few short months, and in that time, I’ve taken everything from Cora. How can I possibly begin to explain to her that none of it was personal? That Inever meant to hurt her? That I know what it feels like to lose everything you’ve ever loved, and that excruciating pain is the last thing I wanted for her?

“I have to find her.” My voice is frantic, the words tumbling out of my mouth one on top of the next.

“She won’t want to see you. Not yet.” Her tone is gentle as she moves to dry my wet cheeks, but her words cut like coral. No, sharper. Like talons.

I moan, nearly collapsing to the floor at the idea of being permanently exiled from Cora’s Eden and into Thomas’s Hell.

“Thomas is still the most powerful and respected man in the village. The men see this as an obvious next step for him, but I wouldn’t count on any kindness from the women.”

I look down to my hands. I can feel my cheeks flushing with shame.

“What do Emme and the others think?”

“Cora has been our friend for years…” Margery smiles sadly at me, answering my question without answering it at all. “Regardless of what they think, they know better than to incur her wrath.”

“I didn’t ask for this.” The sentiment rings hollow, hanging in the air for Margery to examine. Yet it’s all I can think to say.

“I know, my lady. We rarely do.”

Her words twist my insides into knots as I mull over them. I spent eons imprisoned on a rocky shoreline as punishment for a savage act committed by a god. Proserpina was kidnapped by someone old enough to be her father thousands of times over. I know it was my cowardice that sent him to her, but I’ve been punished for it every single moment since. Where was Dis’s punishment? The stability of Cora’s future was tied to her betrothal to Thomas, and he tossed her aside without a second thought. How often were we warned aschildren to watch ourselves around men, to guard our purity with our lives until the moment our fathers deemed us old enough to be traded for status, wealth, prestige?

Margery’s gentle gaze reveals a horrifying truth: Despite the slow, torturous passage of time, despite the changes in technology, and language, and dress, our lives are still ravaged by all the things we didn’t ask for, and those who do the ravaging never have to pay for it. My jaw clenches so tightly that the taste of copper blooms in my mouth.

I spend the rest of the day moored in my room, awaiting the inevitable. This time, I don’t lock myself in. It’s the cosmic punishment that I’m owed, isn’t it? And after losing Cora for good, I no longer feel compelled to hide from it. I watch the street from the window, praying for a glimpse of her slender frame through its wooden shutters, but she doesn’t materialize. Those who do pass slow their gait as they cross beneath the house’s shadow, entranced by the gossip born under its roof. Word travels quickly here, just as it did in Ceres’s palace.

Thomas doesn’t return to greet his new bride until after night falls, and when he does, he bursts through the front door with such force the entire house shakes. He laughs boisterously and bids good night to several other low, indistinguishable voices, perhaps accomplices in his treachery.

Then his footsteps begin up the stairs. He makes it to the landing, and, like always, he stops outside of my room. But tonight, he doesn’t just linger; tonight, he throws the door open, enters my space uninvited, then closes himself insideit.

I’m sitting in front of the fireplace with Cora’s Bible open on my lap. She left it here before Will disappeared, and even the word of God isn’t enough to bring her back to reclaim it. I’d been trying to force meaning from its stories, as if bysomehow understanding the core of Cora’s faith, I could convince her to come back to me. I close the tome gently and set it on the floor.

Thomas grins as he strides toward the fireplace, holding his hands out to the flame’s warmth.

“It’s done, dear Thelia.”

I don’t answer him. He reeks of alcohol.

“Master Waters didn’t take the news well, but Cora handled herself with grace.” He pulls a golden ring from his pocket, turning to present it to me. “Your ring, my queen.”

---