Those Fatal Flowers

Chapter 20 Now

20

Now

“Of course we’ll help you, Thelia,” Cora answers. There’s a sharpness to her voice that takes me a moment to place. Hurt. She thinks I question her willingness to protect me. “We’ll take you back to Sybil’s. If she’s still in contact with the Croatoans, perhaps they can be convinced to take you to the mainland—”

“No. I’m going back to Scopuli.”

“My lady, you can’t!” Margery clasps her hands together so tightly that her knuckles shine white. “The Council voted to seize Scopuli by force! If it’s mostly women on the island…”

“There are almost a hundred single men here eager for their company,” Emme answers when Margery’s voice trails off, a dark expression settling over her usually soft features. “And nearly all of them would like the opportunity to change that, though the spoils of raiding aren’t often made into wives.”

I think of the Iroquoian women on Jaquob’s ship. Gifts, he called them. “I know what they’d do if given the chance. But the only other women on Scopuli are my sisters, and they expect me to return with men—men with treacherous hearts.”

Confusion pinches Cora’s features, and that soft red mouth I’ve dreamt of kissing for weeks falls open with surprise.

“What do you mean?” Rose asks. The other women wear similar confused expressions.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for my confession. The colony’s articles pinned proudly on the meetinghouse’s door flash before me. They beg me to keep my mouth shut.

No man may speak impiously or maliciously against the holy and blessed Trinity or against the known Articles of Christian faith, upon pain of death.

No man shall use any traitorous words against her Majesty’s Person or royal authority, upon pain of death.

No man shall commit the horrible and detestable sins of Sodomy, upon pain of death.

My throat tightens. Oh, gods, I’m guilty of all three counts, and though these women have been kind to me, will they truly forsake their countrymen, their queen, their god for me? A stranger? But what other choice do I have? If I don’t trust them now, I risk having to bury their corpses on Scopuli’s bluffs. I risk having to bury their children’s. Raidne and Pisinoe wouldn’t want freedom, not if it came at that price. And I don’t, either.

“You’re not an agent of Spain, are you?” Emme asks.

“No. But I’m also not a princess.”

A collective gasp ripples across the room.

“I’m going to trust you, but you must trust me, too. Can you do that?”

Each woman nods.

“My sisters and I…we’re cursed. When we were girls, I angered someone very powerful. She was a goddess to us—Idon’t know what you’d call her. A witch, perhaps, though she’d punish you severely for diminishing her like that. A fallen angel, then. A fairy queen. I was given a chance to break this curse, but it can only be done by spilling the blood of treacherous men. These treacherous men. I wouldn’t have landed here if it wasn’t supposed to be them. But without your help, I can’t stop our magic from endangering the innocent.”

I hear my heart beat once, then twice, but no one speaks. Cora’s chin drops to her chest, and dread swirls in my belly, its claws looking for purchase to tear through the rest of me. The other women watch her just as intently; we all hold our breath waiting for her verdict. But when she lifts her face again, her eyes are glistening. She nods to them, determination settling into her features.

She believes me.

“God works in mysterious ways, but what can we do?” It’s Elyoner who speaks. A few short months ago, she would’ve delighted in watching my neck grace the pillory, but tonight, she joins my side.

“We need a plan, and quickly,” Cora says. “Thomas will ask you about Scopuli tonight, and as soon as he knows its location, they’re going to imprison you.”

I take a few moments to appraise them. My friends. Their faces are creased with worry, yes, but Cora’s conviction is infectious. One by one, courage makes them each stand a little taller, and I know my faith has been well placed.

When I speak, there’s a smile on my lips. “So we’ll let them.”

After we settle on a rough course of action, Wenefrid finds me to tell me she intends to remain behind.

“I’m too old for another voyage,” she says with a smile. “I’ll be happier here.”

“With Sybil?” I ask.

“With Sybil,” she confirms, and her eyes sparkle like stars as they wander from me to Cora. When she speaks again, her voice is as soft as a sigh. “If you love someone, make sure they know it. Don’t make the same mistake I did. You can lose so much time that way.”

Her words haunt me as Cora and I walk through the darkling streets to the Bailies’, Cora’s hand swinging dangerously close to mine. My fingers itch to take hold of hers, but I force my arm to stay at my side. We need the colonists to believe that Cora’s one of them, that they’ve all caught me unawares. Which means that for now, the ghost of her touch must be enough.

“What’s going to happen to us all?” she whispers, eyes scanning the shadows between the cottages for potential spies. But the village is quiet.

“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 that separates 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 the Endurance, 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 the Endurance was 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, the clink of 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 the Endurance ’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 tears across 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 familiar clink of 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 match to 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!”

Charles hears her fear, and, without thinking, he charges into the darkness to face the treachery Emme’s discovered. But all he finds is me, wide-eyed, as Emme slides behind him and, without a word, swiftly brings the heavy crock down onto his head.

The man crumples to the floor. The lantern behind Emme lowers to reveal Margery with a black cloak hanging off her left arm. She closes us into the gun room together, safe from any potential prying eyes.

“God’s blood, that felt amazing.” Emme laughs as she retrieves the conical gray hat from Charles’s head and hands it to me.

I grin.

“Everyone’s distracted by the storm,” Margery explains, as Emme retrieves the cloak to place it over my shoulders. “Cora’s room is in the cabin directly above us. Take the ladder just outside to the floor above, then knock on the door behind you. She’s waiting.”

“But—”

“They won’t be looking for you because they won’t know you’re missing,” Emme says. “We’ll drag him back out and lock the door. The sea was so rough, he simply slipped and hit his head—thank goodness Margery found him when she did!”

I nod. “Thank you.”

“Good luck,” Margery whispers, then reopens the door for me. The tension in my muscles springs me forward through the shadows to the ladder, and I scan the darkened room for stray eyes that might catch my ascent. But Margery’s right—most of the able-bodied men are above deck helping to rig the sails, and those who remain are terrified by the ship’s increased rocking. No one wants another problem to appear, so they aren’t actively searching for one. I almost laugh when my hands find the first rung.

Within moments, I’m at Cora’s door. I rap my knuckles against the wood once, then twice. With each second that passes, my heart races faster, but then there’s the blessed sound of a latch being lifted, of a door squeaking open.

Cora’s eyes widen, unable to discern who stands before her. The brim of Charles’s hat casts my face in darkness that the low lantern light can’t penetrate; I lift it slowly, my heart soaring as recognition melts her confusion into a slow smile.

“Thank God,” she says, pulling me into her arms and slamming the door closed behind her.

A particularly violent wave smashes into the ship and sends us tumbling to the floor. Cora crawls to her feet as quickly as she can, bolting the door behind her. When she finds me again, her face is twisted with fear.

I’ve seen ships tossed in waves like this from the sky, but the feeling of being inside one is a horror new to me. Only now, as water rains down on us from a leak in the wooden floors above, do I truly appreciate how fragile this vessel really is.

“W-what do we do?” Cora stammers, her eyes their own large, verdant planets. I reach for her hand, and she takes mine without hesitation.

“We have to wait it out.”

“There was a storm during our voyage from England. It nearly destroyed the ship—”

“Shhh, Cora, don’t think of such things. It’s not our fate to die here.”

I hope my voice projects the confidence that my heart doesn’t feel. In truth, I’m just as terrified as Cora, if not more so. Did Ceres discover our plan and, on the cusp of my victory, convince Tempestas to drown me instead?

“Come.” I wander to her bed and motion for her to lie beside me. To my surprise, she listens, and I slide my hands beneath her head to guide it into my lap. My fingers brush her hair gently, although I’m careful to keep their touch light—the last thing I want is to scare her away. Only now, locked safely away in her chambers with my hands in her curls, do I realize she’s just wearing a shift.

Slowly, she softens, and my racing heart follows suit. The waves still sway the boat, but, at least for now, they aren’t intensifying.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers up to me. I use the opportunity to lie down beside her; she slips her hand into mine again. “There was no way for me to go belowdecks without Thomas noticing. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I whisper back. “Much better now.”

“I’m scared, Thelia.”

“Don’t be, Cora. Everything is going to be all right.”

“You can’t know that. Once Scopuli’s in sight, they’re going to…” She buries her head in my shoulder, unable to make herself finish the sentence.

I hold her there, stroking her hair. “I won’t let him hurt you.”

“Can we really stop them? There are so few of us.”

“I won’t let him hurt you,” I say again, this time more firmly. Cora cranes her head to look at me, and I feel tears welling in my eyes. “I’ll kill him, Cora. I won’t be responsible for another forced marriage. Not again.”

There’s a long moment where Cora says nothing. She simply stares at me, green eyes unblinking and expression unreadable. But then she speaks, and her voice is as soft as I’ve ever heard it, as gentle as a spring breeze. “Again?”

Breaths catch in my throat, one right after the other, a trapped chain of words I’ve never repeated to anyone in a single sitting. My back stiffens as my right hand finds my heart, as if the placement could possibly soothe the organ’s quickening beats. It pounds against the back of my ribs, lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub, as I choke for air. Now it’s Cora’s turn to soothe me. She envelops me in her arms and guides my head to the crook of her neck. I bury my gasps in the warmth of her bare skin; it sends my own ablaze.

Her hand rubs circles into my back to melt away the panic. But I linger after it passes, still frightened of the silence. Her muscles tense beneath me, her body repeating the word for her: Again?

She’s as curious as Proserpina was, unable to help herself, unable to remain on the outside of a secret.

“You asked me once to tell you the truth,” I murmur into her curls. “I couldn’t then.”

“And now?” she whispers.

“Now I’ll tell you everything.”

Tears stream down my face as the story spills out, and I lift my head to meet Cora’s gaze. She’s crying as well, but where I expect disgust written across her features, I find heartbreak—not by me, but for me. “Oh, Thelia…”

“I won’t let another love of mine fall prey to the cruelty of men.”

Cora presses her forehead to mine as her fingertips make sensuous promises on the back of my hand. A stone forms in my throat as every part of me comes alive beneath her touch. Overhead, the lantern swings back and forth with the waves, its reflection captured in two warm sparks that set her emerald eyes alight. “A love?”

Her voice is so soft that I’m not entirely sure that I heard her question. I think of how she withdrew from me those weeks ago, of the sharp ache left in her wake. I say nothing.

“You need not retreat,” she whispers. An invitation, and this time, I don’t question her.

The ship moans on the crest of each swell, as if it’s unsure it can scale the next one. The commotion outside should be a distraction—men yelling indistinctly, boots stomping across the deck, the clangs and scrapes as they try desperately to steer through the squall without falling victim to its fury—but it isn’t. There’s only Cora, her soft pink lips turning upward into a tentative smile, her mess of black curls spilling over her shoulders. Warmth radiates from our bodies. There’s a charge in the air, the same energy that precedes a summer storm, so potent you can taste it—an entire atmosphere born from our desire.

My heart races against my ribs. She lets her hand wander from mine up to the side of my face, brushing a lock of hair behind my ear. Each caress is gentle, exploratory, working up the courage to ask the greater question. The time for thinking is over; I press my body against hers, erasing the space between us, encircling her in my arms.

Our lips meet, an answer. Her kiss is fiery, almost desperate, with an intensity that I match. Her hands leave my face to dig into my hair, fingers entangling themselves so tightly into the locks that it almost hurts. After a time, I break away—I need to catch my breath.

“It wasn’t your fault, Thelia,” Cora whispers into my ear, her words an absolution. It’s what I’ve been desperate to hear for centuries. I find her mouth again, and finally, after all this time, we melt into each other.

With Will, our intimacy was hurried, a poor attempt to fill the void left by others. It’s different with Cora. I want to savor every second, every detail: how she trembles as I plant delicate kisses along her jaw, how her breath hitches each time my lips make contact with her skin.

“Can I touch you?” I whisper into her shoulder, and she nods.

“Please.”

A few months ago, I was certain I’d forgotten love’s softness. That if given the chance, my desire would crush us both. But now, as a hand slides from her waist to slip beneath her nightgown, the idea seems foolish. I won’t devour her.

I’ll worship her.

Cora twists beneath my touch, and I think of all the times she grazed against me and set my skin alight. She must be burning beneath the weight of my palm, but I take my time dragging it along her skin, trying to memorize the rise of her hips, the swell of her breasts. Suddenly, our clothes are an excruciating barrier.

“I want to see you,” she says on a sigh, so we peel off each other’s gowns, and then nothing separates us but skin.

Her hips grind into mine, and she laces our legs together, guiding me with her embrace to rest on top of her. My hair encircles our faces in our own private grotto, and when I look down at her, she’s smiling, lips slightly parted. I can’t resist brushing a finger against them, and before I realize what she’s doing, she takes it into her mouth and swirls her tongue around it.

The sensation shoots through my entire body and settles between my legs, and I must look shocked by the thrill, because she laughs sweetly before releasing me. The act emboldens me, and I let my lips travel to her jaw, down her neck. She sighs, pressing her body up into mine, asking me to continue. So I do.

I bury my head in her chest, letting my tongue work its magic there, while my wet finger slides down her side. Her back arches in response, and then my hand is climbing over the curve of her thigh to rest between her legs. I lift my head to meet her eyes once more.

“Is this all right? Can I keep going?”

Cora’s entire body flutters against mine, and she nods. It’s all I need. My finger traces its way into her slickness. She groans softly, biting her lower lip to try to keep quiet, but I can tell it’s hard for her. Seeing her like this, pliable to my touch, needing more, makes me desperate for her, and I slide my body down hers until I’m nestled between her legs. I catch her watching me between them, her mouth open in a surprised little O, so I add a second finger.

It has the desired effect, and she crumples back into the pillows, rocking her hips against me. This time my tongue finds her most sensitive spot, and within moments, her entire body quakes. Her legs close around me, overwhelmed by the sensations I’ve led her to.

I move back up to bury my face in her nape, and her arms encircle me while she catches her breath. When I look up, I find that she’s crying softly.

“Cora—” I whisper, alarmed.

“Shh, it’s all right, Thelia. They’re happy tears,” she says before bringing my lips to hers again. She kisses me slowly, and when she finally pulls away, that beautiful mouth is twisted into a playful grin.

“It’s your turn.”

With three short words, she sets my entire form aflame.