Page 83 of Those Fatal Flowers

“I can’t say. But I’m serious about the bayberry wax, Cora. Wenefrid will show you how to make it, but you need enough to seal everyone’s ears.”

“Don’t worry, Thelia. We’ll make enough.”

I nod, her assurance a balm on my anxiety.

“I don’t know if we’ll get another chance to be truly alone,” she continues. “They’ll lock you in your room while we prepare to embark, then they’ll transfer you to the new ship with the rest of us before we sail.”

“It will be all right, Cora.”

“How will we stop them? Truly?”

“You’ll see.” I allow my fingers to graze against hers, a warm smile on my lips. Even in her most wondrous dreams, Cora would never be able to imagine it.

Cora’s warning proved true several nights ago. When I arrived back home, both Bailies were gathered in the dining room with the rest of the Council. Thomas feigned an apology for my time in the pillory. His penance, he said, was an invitation to help them plan the scouting party’s voyage to Scopuli. Just as Cora predicted, Thomas presented me with parchment and a quill. My fingers trembled as I lifted the quill above the parchment’s clean surface. Most of my time at sea was a blur—how could I possibly commit my path to it? But the moment that the tip connected with the paper and ink soaked into its fibers, my hand moved of its own accord. Proserpina, I believe, showing us all the way. As soon as the roughly sketched map of Scopuli’s location was in Thomas’s hands, Hugh Taylor and Charles Florrie were on me, dragging me to my bedroom to bar me inside.

And so I watch from my window as the colony prepares to steal my home. Now that I’m safely locked away, there’s no need for them to hide their treachery. Under James Lacie’s command, they dismantle the cottages and other fortifications, should they need to return for the lumber after sacking Scopuli. They make a show of parading their possessions past me on their way to the northern gate, but their actions don’t have the desired effect of making me wither with fear. Instead, I commit the wealthier families’ chests to memory so I can guide Pisinoe to them when the waves return them to our beach.

Of the two ships now in the colony’s possession, only the pinnace is small enough to navigate the narrow inlet thatseparates Roanoke from the open ocean. I imagine it traveling back and forth between the island and the new ship,Endurance,ferrying the colony’s possessions to the larger vessel. Planks will be erected to connect their decks so the men can cross between them freely, hauling barrels and chests over the thin stretch of sea. Then the heavier items will be maneuvered aboard with a series of ropes and levers, including, to my surprise, the cannon they rolled past my window. They plan to blow Scopuli to pieces.

All the while, they watch me as they work, and their gazes hold a smug satisfaction now that my riches are no longer meant for a single man alone. They, too, will be able to plunder from me after all. But I no longer hide my treachery, either. When they’re unlucky enough to meet my eyes, I unleash a blazing grin that desiccates their pompous smiles. They recognize the threat it contains, and they slink away, defeated. It makes my skin vibrate with giddy anticipation. The City of Raleigh had already become a prison, even before now—the unusual clothes, the forced politeness, the constant stares, each a bar on a cage smaller than Scopuli. I miss my rocky shore, its familiar folds. I crave the comfort of my sisters’ presence. I imagine what they’ll say about Cora, reveling in the fact that, soon, I won’t have to imagine it at all.

Inside theEndurance,the clean scent of fresh timber mixes with the brine of the sea. My new cell is a locked closet where the gunpowder is stored. I run my palms along the wooden walls. Their edges are still raw, a reminder that theEndurancewas built in a hurry, and a rogue splinter pierces my index finger. A bubble of blood erupts from the wound, but instead of bringing the digit to my mouth to suck it clean, I rub it into the wood.

Consider that an offering.

Signs of life filter through the locked door. Lantern light leaks in through the seam where the door meets the floor, and that sliver becomes my sun. In its glow, soft songs seep into the closet. The colonists sing to distract the children from the monotony of sea travel, but their music is also a comfort to me.

Every few hours, theclinkof a key in a lock announces it’s time for John Chapman to check my chamber pot. I suppose I should be grateful for this small mercy, but it’s for their benefit as much as mine. It doesn’t take long for the main deck, where the colonists are housed, to grow fetid with the haze of excrement, urine, and sweat. It’s enough to almost make me grateful to be locked away—inside the closet, the worst of the noxious cloud can’t reach me. Still, the sharpness of stale urine settles into my clothes, the sweetness of vomit nestles into my hair.

For the few moments the door is open, I search the space to the outside world for signs of the women. Occasionally I’llcatch glimpses of Elizabeth and Elyoner. Rose smiled at me once. But Cora never graces the slender aperture. As Thomas’s betrothed once more, she likely occupies quarters separate from the rest of the colony’s.

When the sliver of light disappears, the singing and soft chatter stop. I mark the days by counting its loss, carving lines into the soft wood floor with my fingernails. In that near total darkness, one week turns to two, then two spills into three. Luna will be close to full again if she’s not already, and all I can do is pray that theEndurance’s larger sails carry us to Scopuli’s shores faster than my skiff carried me to Roanoke’s. Tonight, I’ve barely finished chipping my daily notch into the floorboards when the deck suddenly tilts beneath me, sending me toppling into the wall, and a collective scream tearsacross the main deck. When the ship rights itself, a chattering panic rises. A loud crack of thunder shakes the sky, followed by the sudden sound of rain beating against the ship.

Emme’s voice floats through the door, sharp and biting. “Aren’t you going to check her chamber pot again?”

“John emptied it half an hour ago,” Master Florrie snaps. “That’s enough royal shit for one day.”

My throat constricts—Emme’s avoided Charles since the night he was too rough with her, before my arrival. And now she’s purposefully seeking him out on my behalf.

“If the weather looks as bad as Mauris says, we’ll all suffer if it spills on the floor! Lady Thelia, can you hear me?”

“Stop! Master Bailie forbade anyone to speak—”

“There’s a storm coming—” Her speech is interrupted by another wave swell. In the darkness, I hear the empty chamber pot slide across the floor. “Does your chamber pot need to be emptied?”

There’s a frenzied pitch to her voice. Someone else might attribute it to her fear of the storm. Or of Charles. But to me…

“Yes!” I call back. “It’s full, Mistress Merrimoth.”

Loud footsteps stomp across the deck overhead, combined with the sound of yelling. Each muscle in my body tenses, readying me to run.

“Go wake up John,” Charles orders. “It’s my duty to guard her, not to empty her piss.”

“God’s blood! Just unlock the door and let me deal with it before another wave knocks it over.”

Charles grumbles, no doubt plotting a punishment for her harsh tongue, but the familiarclinkof the key in the lock indicates Emme’s won. The door swings open, and she crosses into the gun room, hand outstretched to receive the empty stoneware pot. Behind her, someone strikes a matchto light the lantern that swings overhead, silhouetting her against the door. I hold my breath as I hand it to her.

Emme steps to the side, out of the doorway. When she speaks again, her voice hits the perfect key of alarm. “Master Florrie! Come quickly!”

---