Chapter 4 Now
4
Now
“Loyal subjects of the Crown, allow me to introduce Lady Thelia!” Thomas bellows, his voice an axe to the moment that held only us. Proserpina’s double cuts her attention to him, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. My mouth turns sour. If she really was Proserpina, surely she would’ve acknowledged me by now. Unless—
She despises you, that ancient fear chides. How could she not?
I force myself to stand tall, to stay still, refusing to succumb to the very real desire to fall to my knees and beg for forgiveness.
It’s not her. It’s not her. It’s not her. Is the realization a blow or an answer to a prayer? It’s a bit of both, though it still feels like being pummeled by Scopuli’s waves.
The room is disturbingly silent. Perhaps my ruse is easilydetected, and they’ve already determined I’m not who I say. I turn to Margery for guidance just in time to watch her step away from me. Mistress Bailie rises from her chair, a sickeningly sweet grin painted across her lips. It takes all my strength to keep from collapsing beneath the weight of her stare—does she mean to introduce me or decry me?
The older woman fans out her arms in a display of presentation. I think of the sweet-eyed cattle that humans paraded through the village streets during my childhood, straight to the center of the town, where they met their fates as gifts to the gods. Is this what it feels like to be an offering? I’ve never been on the receiving end of a sacrificial blade, and I don’t doubt that, given the opportunity, Mistress Bailie would happily drag one across my throat.
“When our fair queen granted us our charter, she entrusted us to explore these remote and dangerous lands with the intention of establishing the first permanent colony in the Americas. We’ve secured our outpost here, on Roanoke, but our queen also wished for us to seek out and meet other peoples,” Mistress Bailie says, projecting her voice to fill the large space. “Tonight, we do our queen proud. Lady Thelia comes to us from a land called Scopuli. Her people, as you may have suspected, are noble and wealthy. We’re proud to have her as our guest, and we look forward to forging a fruitful alliance between our countries.”
The townspeople turn to one another with excited chatter. I use the cacophony to ground myself. The next few minutes will be important. I must appear strong, not meek, or else my ruse will never work. Raising my chin higher, I push forward to the center of the room to face Thomas and the woman who must be his betrothed. His love, though she looks so much like mine.
“I thank you all for your kindness,” I say. “I was at sea for several weeks, afraid the waves would claim me, unsure of what to expect if they didn’t. I’m so grateful I washed upon your shores.”
“And what, exactly, brings you here?” Thomas asks for the crowd’s benefit, though after his meeting with the Council, everyone likely already knows.
“Scopuli has run out of eligible suitors, so I’ve been sent to find a worthy man for my hand in marriage. The treasure you saw is only a fraction of my dowry, but I hope it’s enough to convince you of the seriousness of my offer.”
Another burst of prattling fills the room, and Thomas offers me another toast. “To the mysterious and beautiful Princess Thelia! May she find her king among our ranks!”
“Hear, hear!” Everyone raises their glasses in unison. I bow my head in thanks, trying not to lose myself in my racing thoughts. The details of my story swirl around the one thing that dominates my attention: the woman before me, the very likeness of my stolen love.
“Come, Lady Thelia. Sit and enjoy the meal!” Thomas motions toward the seat beside him where Proserpina’s twin is currently positioned. “Cora, do you mind?”
Cora’s spine straightens, and those red lips press into a cold, thin line. But she acquiesces and slides into the empty seat to her right. In the halo of her radiance, I can’t help but feel silly by comparison. But all eyes are on me, not her. The vast fortune they believe me to have helps me compete with her natural beauty.
I step onto the platform with the other high-ranking members of the village and take my seat beside Thomas. My hands press into my stomach, and I keep my eyes trained on the empty plate on the table before me. I fear if I look at her, I won’t be able to look away. Or worse, she’ll vanish.
And then, there it is: the same elusive smell that intoxicated me last night. So it was she who guarded my side. The realization is enough to pique my curiosity, to encourage meto speak, but before I can, Thomas is once again talking.
“Rose, fetch these ladies something to drink!” he says to a wisp of a girl, then turns to me. “Wine or ale, Lady Thelia?”
“Wine, please.” I respond slowly, trying to hide my irritation at his intrusion. Men, always inserting themselves where they’re not wanted. He snaps his fingers, and the girl pours me a large glass of the scarlet liquid before moving to fill Cora’s cup as well. It doesn’t go unnoticed by either of us that Thomas didn’t ask her preference. She swirls her goblet aggressively before taking a long pull from it. A knot grows in my abdomen, and I follow her lead with my own large gulp. The alcohol warms my throat, but it does little to calm my nerves.
The excitement dies down enough that everyone begins to eat. A spark of jealousy kindles in my stomach as I watch them. There’s Margery, bouncing a baby on her knee. Another woman scolds her own children, but she does so with a smile on her lips. These people have families; they have lives. Things that I was forbidden from having a long time ago.
But maybe that’s not true anymore.
The thought dampens the glint of rage, and with my resentment tempered, relief floods in. I’m no longer the center of attention.
“If you’re looking for a worthy suitor, the most likely candidate is already betrothed,” a man says from behind Mistress Bailie. He moves to stand behind Thomas. “I’m Master Will Waters. His oldest friend.” He claps his hands onto Thomas’s shoulders to emphasize his point, laughing as he does so, before nodding to Cora. “And Cora’s older brother.”
As I observe them in the candlelit glow of the hall, I’m surprised to see how much the two siblings look alike. He’s a large man, no doubt, but his features are soft and gracile—almost feminine. The same dark curls frame his face, which is markedly softer than the hard lines and sharp angles of Thomas’s. However, where Cora is reserved and calculating, Will is exuberant. It would be hard to remain cold toward him if thoughts of my past didn’t immediately sour me against him. The last time I let my defenses down around a man, I allowed evil to go unpunished. I won’t make that mistake again.
Will’s intrusion is far from subtle. Thomas and Cora have an arrangement, and Will senses Thomas’s curiosity toward me. Nervous thoughts begin to swirl, but the sight of Thomas’s eyes darkening at the mention of his betrothal keeps me anchored to the conversation. He wears the same expression as a child who realizes he won’t be allowed to play with a new toy.
I lift my chin away from Will in the best display of dominance this body allows. When the lie spills from my lips, it does so easily. “A competition will be held to win my hand. It’s tradition.”
“A competition?” Thomas responds with glittering eyes. A flicker of something flashes across Will’s face, but it ripples away too quickly for me to catch exactly what it is—indignation at Thomas’s disrespect toward his sister? Irritation at the allure I hold for him?
Jealousy?
“What type of competition?” Will draws his gaze back tome.
“A display of strength,” I respond. “Becoming the heir to Scopuli’s throne is an honor not fit for the weak.”
“When will it be held?”
“As soon as—” I start at the same time Thomas asks loudly, “What’s the hurry?”
Will drops his hands from his shoulders. Only now do I realize he’d been touching Thomas this whole time, as if he were reluctant to let go.
“Let the woman rest and regain her strength before we send her on her way with a new husband-to-be in tow,” Thomas adds.
“Of course, I didn’t mean to be rude. I hope you can understand that a man is simply eager to try his luck for such a reward.”
I feel the color rising in my cheeks, and I turn to look at Cora. She’s nearly finished her meal, while my plate remains untouched. I take another sip of wine and reach for a stale roll from a basket in the center of the table, but the gesture is for show. I’m not hungry.
Despite an apparent shortage of food, there’s no shortage of alcohol. Rose, the girl who poured my wine, finds herself rather busy, refilling goblets all around the room. The din grows as people start talking louder and moving heavier, banging the tables with their fists, clinking glasses. I scour the room, counting the women as best I can. When I can’t make it past ten without realizing I’ve double-counted someone or losing my place, I determine that the alcohol hit me harder than I intended.
Proserpina and I used to sneak sips of Bacchus’s wine when Ceres hosted feasts. We’d hide beneath the elaborately set dinner tables and wait patiently until the adults were ripe with drink and my sisters lost interest in keeping an eye on us. Only then would we snatch their goblets from above and return them once they were drained. One or two glasses was enough to send us scampering from the banquet hall, giggling as we dashed through the emptied corridors of the palace. If anyone ever knew what we were up to, no one stopped us. Only Ceres had the authority to scold her, and the Mother of the Fields was still jovial back then. The memory is a warm one, and without thinking, I reach for Cora’s hand beneath the table.
Cora’s face snaps to mine as she pulls her hand away. The look of shock I wear betrays my situation, and although she’s irritated at first, her expression softens. When she stands, she motions for me to join her. Whether her intention is to rescue me or simply to draw me away from the crowd, I don’t care—I’d follow this woman anywhere.
“Lady Thelia, you must be exhausted. Would you like me to walk you home?”
This is the most she’s spoken all evening. At first, the sound of her voice sends my expectations soaring, but although it’s just as lovely as last night, Proserpina isn’t in it.
“Yes, thank you,” I reply softly, trying to hide my disappointment. I’m suddenly desperate to escape the room’s hundreds of appraising eyes. Thomas studies us both, as if calculating how this could play in his favor. If he discovers an answer, his expression doesn’t reveal it.
“Of course. Good night, Lady Thelia, Mistress Waters,” he says.
We exit into the chilly night air. I wrap my arms around my frame as a shiver traces down my spine. The wine has made my mind foggy, but there’s a sense of security under the cover of Nox’s cloak; out here, I allow a few tears to fall as I watch the outline of the woman I love walk ahead of me. The woman I lost.
Cora is quiet for a few steps, but we don’t make it far before she whirls around to face me, those green eyes flaring.
“Master Thomas seems rather fond of you,” she says. The subtext is clear. She’s warning me.
I raise my hands in submission. “I have no interest in your betrothed, Mistress Waters.” Not in the way she’s implying, anyway—what I have in store for him is far, far worse, but what good would saying such a thing do for either of us?
Her smoldering gaze lingers on mine for the span of a breath, then she turns on her heel without another word. We walk back to the Bailie house in silence. When the shadows of the cottage finally catch me, I open my mouth to thank her. But she’s already several paces down the street, and soon, darkness engulfs her completely.
I stare after her, mouth agape and eyes wide, watching the last place her form is visible before it’s overtaken by shadow. After a time, I step into the warmth of the foyer, but the image remains with me deep into the night, long after the Bailies have returned, when the house is as silent as a crypt.
I can barely stand it: Proserpina and Cora, both swallowed by darkness. When it took Proserpina, it was over so quickly. One moment she was there, the next she was gone, devoured by a stygian mouth that carried her straight to the Underworld. I always believed nothing could be worse than the shock of her sudden disappearance, but now I wonder if I was wrong. For it’s Cora’s dissipating shape that haunts me tonight—the shade slowly eating away at her, piece by piece, until nothing is left but black.