Page 92 of Those Fatal Flowers

I hover there, my wings beating at a steady pace to keep us aloft, my thumbs still weaving around inside his skull as mybreathing slows. I think about the night I washed onto Roanoke’s shores, about my desperate plea to the gods. I asked them only to free my sisters. I didn’t ask to be saved as well—one final cruel twist of fate for the gods to revel in.

Tears pool in my eyes, blurring my vision. I don’t have much time. Already, Thomas feels heavier, harder to bear. Soon I won’t be able to hold him at all. I’ve reached the end of my thread. Somewhere below, the Fates open their shears, but where I expected to find terror, there’s only a strange sense of resignation. I fulfilled my duty to my sisters. I freed Cora from the grip of a vile man. They’ll go on to live long lives, far away from here. And gods, though I wish more than anything that I could join them, there’s only one thing left to do.

I’m sorry, Cora. I wish you didn’t have to see this.

I fold my wings behind my back. Cora screams my name from below, but there’s no way to stop this now. Thomas and I plummet through the air, gaining speed as we go, quickening us to our fates.

In the blur of sea and sky that rush past, I see Raidne and Pisinoe returned to their divine forms, finally allowed to rejoin the gods.

I see Wenefrid and Sybil laughing over ale in the abandoned ruins of the City of Raleigh.

I see the other women and children returning to England’s shores.

And finally, there’s Cora standing before the sea, on the cusp of an unimaginable adventure of her own making.

Dying for this is worth it. After all, a sacrifice has to hurt, or else it isn’t a sacrifice.

Castle’s spires grow closer and closer. My eyes flutter closed; my lips part in one last prayer.

Our bodies break upon the cliffs.

22

Now, Below

The sweet scent of damp stone brings me back to the waking world. I’m in the antechamber of a large cave. Outside, the light is blinding. Even straining my eyes, I can’t make out what lies beyond its threshold, so I turn my attention back to the dark interior. A single torch mounted on the wall beckons.

I begin to understand. The only direction to go is deeper. To descend. The flame flickers as I tread forward into the shadows, casting an orange halo around me. But the small perimeter of afforded light offers few clues as to what lies ahead. With each step, the light outside begins to dim, like an eye slowly closing, until I’m left in total darkness.

The stone beneath my bare feet is surprisingly warm. It’s strange to be comforted by this, but it reminds me of my sisters. Of the times we spent in Scopuli’s many sea caves.

If I’m here, I didn’t survive. But my sisters will. I fulfilled my pact, brought back a ship filled with men so greedy and corrupt that their blood will give Proserpina all the power she needs to free Raidne and Pisinoe from Scopuli forever. I smile, thinking of them, of Cora. The small glimpse I saw ofthe world outside our cliffs was cruel, merciless. But it was also vaster than it ever was in our youth and filled with unending chances for a real life.

The antechamber opens to a hallway so large that I can’t find its walls. I walk for a few moments with my hands outstretched until my fingers finally graze against stone. Beneath my feet, the floor slopes gently downward. I’m not only venturing deeper into this cave; I’m venturing deeper into the earth.

The only way forward is down, so down I go. My steps reverberate against the vaulted ceiling, falling in with the sound of my breath. It’s surprisingly steady, given the circumstances. Adrip, drip, drippunctuates my own rhythms from somewhere beyond my torch’s reach; I never learn its source, but despite its secrecy, the sound brings me peace.

In life, I thought of caves as dank and musty places, but this tunnel into darkness doesn’t meet that characterization. The air is cool, yes, but it’s also crisp and clean, like a fresh winter snow.

And so I progress, farther and farther underground. I have no idea how long I walk—it could be for mere moments; it could be for days. The torch still rages brightly, as if it were just lit, a seemingly inextinguishable source of fire. Time doesn’t mean much here, but why would it?

The gurgle of water is the first thing to break the monotony of the journey. It starts out quiet, no louder than a gentle stream, but as I continue, the babble grows into a roar.

My eyes slowly adjust to the darkness. Up ahead, the hallway terminates in a doorway to an even larger space. I cross its threshold and find myself on the ledge of an impossibly huge cavern, so vast that it holds an entire raging river that curves off into a deeper void. The ceiling is so far overheadthat it’s cloaked in shadow; it’s impossible to know how high up it goes.

The cavern is illuminated by a mysterious light, the source of which is billions of tiny fluorescent strands of silk, spun by indistinguishable creatures that glow a ghostly blue. They hang from the ceiling like glass beads on fishing lines, too far away for me to see exactly what they are, but that’s all right—this way, I’m able to pretend that they’re the spectral sisters of my little spider friend. Their effect is beautiful.

Green mushrooms sprout at my feet, also radiating a subtle bioluminescence. Their light reveals a staircase carved into the cliffside that descends into the cavern. I follow the path with my eyes: The mushrooms lead to the bank of the river.

Standing at the water’s edge is a cloaked figure beside a small boat. The apparition carries its own torch. It appears to watch me on the precipice.

My heart suddenly pounds so heavily, I fear I might collapse. I know who this psychopomp is; I also know I have no coin to pay for passage. Will I be doomed to roam the shores of this place for a hundred years? Have I already found a new prison to replace the one I just escaped? I look back at the hallway behind me, but, as if to underscore that there’s no returning, my unassailable torch extinguishes in a sudden burst, as quickly as the snapping of fingers.

An empty sconce sits expectantly on the wall to my right, so I deposit the used torch into it and continue down the steps. They’re ancient, rocky things, and if it weren’t for the soft light of the fungi to guide me, I know with complete certainty that I would fall to—what? My death? I suppose I’ve already arrived.

I reach the bottom of the steps. The figure is indeed watching my procession, its obscured head following mymovements. I start to feel faint, but I continue forward because there’s nothing else to do, and nowhere else to go.

When I’m no more than an arm’s length away from the guide, it reaches up with its free hand to take down its hood. I stare for a few moments, eyes blinking, trying to make sense of who stands before me.

---