Those Fatal Flowers

Chapter 10 #2

“One,” I count, and even though he still needs to be tossed twice more, Lewes has had enough. The young boy scurries out of the circle, forfeiting his claim as the crowd bursts into laughter. I force a small smile to mirror the townspeople’s emotions, but there’s no pleasure for me in Lewes’s defeat. If anything, may this flirtation with violence sate him for a lifetime.

Marke, on the other hand, is visibly desperate for more. He clenches and unclenches his fists, skirting the edges of the ring with a victorious smile that cuts across his face like a hideous gash. His bravado makes my own lust for gore take root in the pit of my stomach, and my lips curl back; it’s time for someone else to crush him since it can’t be me who has that honor. At least not today. “Sir Marke wins the round. Who will challenge him?”

Hugh Taylor, one of Thomas’s men, steps forward. Unlike Lewes, Hugh is prepared to take on the older man. As soon as I give the signal to begin, Hugh kicks the back of Marke’s knees to force him into a kneeling position. Everyone, including me, lets out a gasp, though I suspect only mine contains pleasure. One. When Marke stands again, Hugh shoves him with such force that the older man stumbles back into the dirt. Two. This seems to galvanize him, because Marke throws himself in Hugh’s direction, but Hugh deftly jumps to Marke’s left and sticks out his leg. Marke stumbles over it back onto the ground for his third and final fall.

I don’t need to ask who’s next. Mauris Allen, another of Thomas’s inner circle, enters the ring to face and defeat Hugh. Then he beats Cuthbert White, but he is too exhausted to keep his streak going, so Charles Florrie quickly outpaces him. Emme’s expression darkens as she watches Charles, and it dawns on me that most of the women here have secret histories with these men I’ll never be privy to. It’s hard to see Emme’s round face with none of its usual warmth, and though Charles loses his next match, the pain he feels right now doesn’t absolve him of the debt he’s accrued by hurting Emme.

I’ll make him pay. I swear it.

Emme’s eyes flick to mine. Her stare is cold and distant, just like the sea that brought me here. Does she somehow sense the vow I’ve just made? The sound of bodies colliding draws her attention back to the ring, and I exhale my relief slowly through gritted teeth.

One by one they fight, throwing each other’s frames into the ground, crushing each other into the dirt. The snow inside the circle melts under the heat of their bodies, and the number of participating men begins to dwindle.

After several matches, Griffen Jones stands triumphantly after forcing Brian Wyles from the circle. No one moves to challenge him, and I’ve stepped forward to declare Griffen the winner when I catch sight of Cora from across the ring. Her eyes have grown wild, and Emme, who’s moved to stand beside her, meets my gaze with an equally alarmed expression. And then I see why.

Thomas has entered the circle. A series of hushed whispers tear through the spectators. Only Agnes looks calm, having known this moment was coming. Her close confidant, Jane Mannering, whispers something into her ear, but Agnes holds up a hand to silence her.

“What are you waiting for?” Thomas goads. “Start the match.”

I look again to Cora, but her eyes are no longer on Thomas—they’re on me, and they’re pleading. I have no reason to object, no reason to stop this, but still, I find that my words waver on my tongue. Thomas clears his throat expectantly.

I can save you all, but I need more blood.

I’m sorry, Cora.

I close my eyes and say it. “Begin.”

When I open them again, something in Cora’s expression has broken, and I’m swallowed by the fear that allowing this was a grave mistake. Griffen is far larger than Thomas, and for a moment, I dare to hope that Griffen will trounce him. But to my horror, he bows to Thomas instead.

“I’m not worthy of the prize of your hand,” he says, but it’s hardly a reason. That was true before he entered the ring, and it didn’t stop him from crossing into its boundary.

“You forfeit?” My voice betrays my surprise. Griffen answers by excusing himself into the crowd.

Thomas smirks and folds his arms across his chest, looking back over the faces of the eligible men. No one moves. My heartbeat rings in my ears, and despite the cold air, I feel suddenly flushed.

“Who challenges Sir Thomas?” I ask, and still no one comes forward.

“Well, then,” Thomas says, turning to face me with a wicked smirk. “It looks like I’m the winner—”

“I’ll challenge him,” Will shouts, pushing himself from the throng to step into the circle. Somehow, this only makes things worse.

Rage flashes across Thomas’s face, but he manages to burythe emotion beneath a collected exterior. “Are you sure, Will?”

If the question is meant to force Will into submission, it has the opposite effect. Something in his expression hardens, and he nods.

“You may—” I start, but before I can finish speaking, the two men are at each other’s throats.

The only sounds that fill the otherwise silent square are the thuds of their bodies colliding. Thomas is bigger than Will, more muscular, but he’s also slower. Will dodges most of Thomas’s blows, and for a glittering moment, I’m hopeful that this won’t end badly. But Will’s ability to elude him only makes Thomas more aggressive, and he somehow manages to grab Will by his sable locks. As soon as he does, he yanks Will’s head back. Bile rises into my throat—he’ll snap his oldest friend’s neck for my hand. Cora must fear the same, for she lets out a pitiful wail, and the sound breaks Thomas’s attention away long enough for Will to throw his entire weight backward onto him. The force sends them both into the dirt.

“One. For both of you. Now separate,” I command, though my voice delivers it as a plea.

They obey, but only long enough to get back onto their feet, and then they’re at it again. This time, Thomas grabs hold of Will’s arm and, with surprising strength, lifts him to throw him over his shoulder. Will drops like a stone onto his back.

“Two-one.”

When Will rises to his feet, there’s a determination in his eyes that makes me sick. What if it’s not enough? But having the lead makes Thomas cocky, and he charges to try to repeat the same move for the final toss. Except this time, Will sees him coming and expertly steps aside to copy Hugh’s tactic, leaving his foot in Thomas’s path. It’s too late for Thomas to stop himself—he trips over Will’s ankle and falls to the ground.

“Two-two.”

Now Thomas is furious, but despite my wishes, he doesn’t charge again. The two circle each other, their chests heaving. The vapor from their combined breaths cocoons them in a haze. They orbit each other like that for what feels like hours, but then Thomas cracks. He throws a fist at Will’s face that connects squarely with Will’s left eye, and then he sends his other fist into Will’s jaw. The blow splits open Will’s lip, and a trail of blood flies through the air.

“Stop!” I shriek. “You’re not allowed to strike each other!”

But my words have little effect. Will’s doubled over, one hand holding his face, the other propping himself up against his knee. Thomas uses the time to sidle behind him, and with one swift movement, he wraps a muscular arm around Will’s neck and begins to squeeze. For a few painful moments the only sound is Will’s gasps for air; his face turns a sickening shade of red.

“Enough!” I say. “That’s enough!”

But no one moves to stop them. Even Cora seems resigned, for she’s turned away to bury her head in Emme’s shoulder.

And then Will’s body goes limp. The blood rushes to my head, but I see what Thomas doesn’t: Will’s feigning his defeat, and Thomas, convinced of his victory, loosens his grip. The exact moment he does, Will grabs hold of Thomas’s arm, his left hand atop Thomas’s elbow and his right on Thomas’s wrist, and then he throws his weight to the left. It opens enough space between their two bodies for Will to strike the top of Thomas’s right thigh with his right fist.

Thomas is shocked by the sudden hit and looks down to see the cause. As he does so, Will swiftly raises his right arm back up and connects his elbow with Thomas’s jaw with a sickening crack . The blow is enough to force Thomas to release him, and when he does, Will whirls around and gives him one final, forceful shove into the ground. Thomas lands on his back with a loud thump .

It’s time to end this now, before any other surprises occur.

“That’s three!” I scream. “Will is the winner!”

The crowd, equally unsettled, remains quiet.

Thomas’s face flickers as he processes the unlikely turn ofevents, but Will spins around and extends him a hand. Thomas takes it and rises to his feet, and Will claps his shoulder. The two lock eyes, and neither one speaks until Thomas erupts into an exaggerated smile. It chills me, but it has the opposite effect on most of the crowd. Lulled into a sense of security, they go wild with applause. Except for the women. Though smiles grace their lips, their eyes are all haunted.

“Congratulations on a good fight, Will!” Thomas says. Will looks unsure but ultimately nods, apparently deciding to believe him. Then Thomas releases Will’s hand and turns to the crowd, sweeping his arms open as if to invite the entire square into an embrace. “Shall we celebrate?”

I try to reach for Cora, but I lose her in a sea of people swelling to the meetinghouse. I’m handed a goblet of ale the second I cross the threshold. Someone is already playing a stringed instrument, its music upbeat and lively. If this were any other day, I’d be tempted to ask its player to show it to me, but my eyes are already scanning the room for familiar faces. Elizabeth, Elyoner, and Rose flock to me, followed by Margery, who looks as shaken as I feel.

“Where’s Cora?” My voice betrays my concern. Rose lowers her eyes, and Elyoner excuses herself. They all know how furious she must be, and it’s clear as day in the way they worry at their lips and fingernails that, on some level, they find me responsible. Indignation at the injustice of their blame paints my cheeks red, but it burns as brilliantly and as quickly as a falling star. This is my fault, after all. Without my curse, without me, none of this would have happened.

“There.” Margery tilts her head to the back corner of the room. “But give her some space for now.”

I follow the motion of her nod. Cora’s back is to me, but her posture is rigid. Thomas, with his exaggerated smile, is visible from over her shoulder as he offers all sorts of explanations to placate her. I wish I could see her face, I need to see her face, to know if she believes his words. But how can she? He’s just exposed the undeniable fact that her feelings matter very little to him, and he’s done it before the entire colony.

Besides the cloud over the two of them, the mood is jovial. A few couples begin to dance, and even Agnes giggles over her glass of ale, though it’s hard to believe her upbeat attitude is anything more than an elaborate farce. It’s more likely that she’s already divining some scheme or another, but there’s no need for that. I’ll allow Thomas to join us on our trip back to Scopuli, along with any other willing men. But what of Cora and the other women I’ve come to know?

I sip my own drink and scan the crowd. I don’t know who I’m looking for until I find Will’s face, but when I do, a wave of relief, of gratitude, floods over me. It feels strange, to be this happy to see a man all right. But his intervention is the only reason I haven’t lost Cora entirely, a fact that endears him to me more than I care to admit. If Thomas had won, she would rightfully despise me. But he didn’t, thanks to Will. Will smiles when he finds me staring, and he slides through the crowd to meet me, taking my hand into his.

“Want to dance?” he asks, a single green eye glittering. The other is purple and swollen shut, and the skin across his neck is still raw from Thomas’s choke hold. His clothes are torn and covered in filth from being thrown to the ground. Will is an attractive man, but currently, he looks pitiful.

“Absolutely not!” I reach to touch just below his bruised socket. He winces and jerks his head away from my fingers. “Let’s find something cold to put on this…”

“I’ve had worse, Lady Thelia. It’s all right. The best remedy is a dance.” I open my mouth to protest, but he’s already pulling me toward the dance floor.

“No, Will!” I say, moving quickly to keep the sloshing ale in the goblet away from my expensive dress. “I don’t know the steps!”

“You, my queen, don’t need to,” he says, and the next thing I know, we’re spinning around the circle, my drink spraying as we go. The room becomes a blur of color, with Will’s smile the only thing in focus.

In the cacophony of the celebration, and with the kiss of alcohol on everyone’s breath, it’s almost easy to forget that he hasn’t won my hand in marriage or the treasure of an ancient kingdom, but rather a horrific death by my hand.

Does he deserve to be a sacrifice for our freedom? I think about how he watches Thomas with a desire he’ll never be able to name aloud, and against my better judgment, my heart softens for him.

But what about the story Cora told me about the indiscriminate slaughter of the people on the mainland? Will still chose to sail across the sea knowing what his predecessors did. And since arriving, not a single person has tried to right the violence their forebears wrought. Instead, they happily erect walls and point their weapons in the faces of those whose villages they razed, whose families they murdered.

“I need some air,” I say, pulling myself from Will’s arms. He releases me without question.

“Of course, Lady Thelia, but try not to linger—it’s unusually cold this year, and though the ale will warm your bones, don’t be deceived by it.”

I nod, touched by his thoughtfulness, and slip from the group to head outside to the meetinghouse’s southern edge. There are no people out here; my only company is the orange glow from the windows and the sounds of laughter and music that waft through the air. Will is right about the temperature. I hold myself tight to keep warm.

The sun is low in the sky, and pointed roofs pierce the twilight. In the eastern sky, my second dazzling full moon crests the horizon, painted orange by the last light of day. A shiver snakes up my spine, but the chill isn’t the cause. It’s the anticipation of what’s to come: In the next few days, I’ll bring Will and as many men as the Council will allow to Scopuli. With any luck, we’ll break the curse well before the third full moon graces the sky. But then what? I could return here for the women and children, but would they want my help after the incredible cost they unknowingly paid for it? Would Cora?

Movement in the shadows pulls me from my thoughts. It’s Thomas, emerging from the darkness. The mask of happiness he wore before the crowd is gone. In its place is something sinister. He staggers as he approaches, and the scent of alcohol hits me before he’s within arm’s reach. Whatever he’s drinking is stronger than the ale being served inside.

“You were mine,” he growls, reaching out for me. I take a step back to dodge his touch. “And then that bastard—”

“Beat you,” I finish for him. “We weren’t destined to be, Master Thomas.”

“Bullshit,” he sneers. “No one else here deserves you. They’re all peasants, the dregs of society forced to come here because they had no other options back in England. My father was one of the men chosen to lead this sorry lot with me as his successor, and I will make it profitable.”

“Funny,” I say, a smile creeping onto my lips, “I heard your father decided you weren’t fit to lead.”

He pins me against the meetinghouse so hard that the wooden wall scratches my back through my chemise, bodice, overdress, and cloak. My heart beats wildly in my chest; I haven’t felt this particular fear—the sense of dread that comes with knowing that you are weak, that you are the prey—since that night those first sailors bound our wrists and plotted our demise. The type of fear known only to us deemed lesser, when the powerful decide to take what they want from us by force.

And this time, I have no song to save me. I’m as helpless as Proserpina was that fateful night, all those years ago. Terror courses through my veins as Thomas presses his body harder into mine. I speak so much of justice, but what about the justice owed to me? Was my curse truly penance enough for Proserpina’s fate, or was all of this—the human form, the ability to leave Scopuli, the loss of my magic—meant only to bring me here, to this exact moment, so that Thomas can take me as forcefully, as brutally, as Dis took her? I close my eyes, desperate to recoil from his hot, sour breath, but there’s nowhere to escape to, though even I can’t deny that this is exactly what I deserve.

“Enough, Thomas,” a sharp female voice scolds, and Thomas releases me like a retriever drops a duck at its master’s feet. My eyes snap open, shocked at the sudden cold that replaces Thomas’s closeness. Agnes stands behind him, arms folded across her chest and a dark look plastered across her features. For the briefest moment, I think that she’ll scold him for his vile behavior, but it isn’t disgust that paints her delicate features. It’s irritation. His boorishness offends her, not his actions, as if he merely trampled her favorite flowers. “Leave us.”

Thomas growls like an animal, but he listens to her, trudging from the meetinghouse’s glow into the shadows and out of sight. My heart still beats like a caged bird, and I watch the spot where the darkness swallows him, but the rebuked man does not return.

“My son can be impetuous when he drinks,” she explains, as if this is a valid explanation for restraining a woman against her will. I look up at her incredulously, but she continues before I can retaliate. “Pay him no mind.”

“Thelia?” Will rounds the corner and finds us both standing there. “Ah, Mistress Bailie, good evening!”

“Good evening, Will,” she nearly sings, her voice now sweet. The quickness with which she can shift between personalities is something to behold. “I was just saying good night to Lady Thelia.”

“Retiring so early?”

“Someday you’ll be as old as me. Then you’ll understand.” She winks at him before taking a few steps back from us both. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, you two! What a handsome match you make.”

If Will hears the venom that coats her words, his face doesn’t betray it. In fact, he smiles after her affectionately, as if he were watching his own mother retreat. Only once she’s gone does Will notice my expression and ask, “Is everything all right?”

“Thomas,” I say, and Will’s eyes darken.

“I knew he’d be upset,” he admits. “But I needed to do something. For Cora.” Shame swells in my gut—of course. Will had no intention of competing for my hand until his sister’s future demanded it.

“Be careful, Will,” I warn. “He was furious. I worry what he might do.”

“Thomas is my oldest friend,” he says. As he speaks of him, his eyes soften, despite everything he knows. “He’s petulant and spoiled, certainly, but he just needs to drink this off. He’ll take a few days to lick his wounds, but then he’ll be all right. We settled our differences in the ring. That’s where they’ll stay.”

I chew on my bottom lip, unsure of what exactly to say next.

“I hope you’re right.”

It’s all that I can muster because I know that he’s not.

Overhead, the moon glitters as brilliantly as a diamond. The sight should bring elation, but as Will and I stand bathed in her ethereal light, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m on the brink of losing everything.

Will’s prediction about Thomas proves true enough. The day following the challenge, I barely see him at all. I wake early to join him for the Council meeting, but instead I find a flustered Margery in the kitchen.

“Where’s Master Thomas?”

“Gone already.” Her face is pinched with worry.

“What’s wrong?”

“Have you looked outside yet?”

I shake my head, and Margery tilts her chin toward the back door. “Go see.”

Light spills inside, so bright that it blinds me. In this moment of weakness, the air, now far colder than last night’s, rushes forward and snaps my skin between its teeth. The combined effect is disorienting, and several breaths pass before shapes begin to form in the wall of white that my vision’s become—the City of Raleigh is covered in snow, its harsh edges softened beneath a glittering white blanket. Smoke curls from the top of each cottage’s chimney, and the scent of burning pine hangs heavy in the air. All the while, large, wet flakes continue to fall from the heavens.

And it’s quiet. This is the first time I’ve seen the streets completely empty. Margery’s footprints entering the kitchen and Thomas’s footprints leaving it, both already half filled once more with fresh powder, are the only indication that anyone’s managed to rouse themselves from bed. It’s as if the entire colony collectively decided that today is a day for rest. Its beauty erases Margery’s worry from my mind until the frigid air forces me to close the door to the sparkling world.

“We have no record of it getting this cold, of it ever snowing like this here.” Margery’s voice is grave as she adds more wood to a pile of coals in the hearth.

“It’s going to be all right, Margery.” I draw closer to her, holding my hands before the budding flames to warm them. “I’m going to meet with the Council today to plan our departure—”

Her tone takes on a sympathetic lilt that can only be pity. “Oh, my lady, they won’t let you join a Council meeting.”

“What do you mean? I’m the only one who knows where Scopuli is. How can they plan to sail there without me?”

“They won’t be planning to sail anywhere. Not with the weather like this. It’s too dangerous to be at sea when it’s this cold.”

A soft ringing begins in my ears, and I shake my head to try to expel it. “No, that’s not right—Master Thomas said that we’d leave within the week.”

Margery smiles sadly. “Was that before or after he lost to Master Waters?”

I turn away from the hearth, unable to bear the truth of her words. It makes the ringing in my ears grow even louder, and my hands find the back of a chair to steady myself. “I need to speak to them, to Thomas, right away. Do you know where he went?”

“No, my lady, but he’s never gone long.” An iron pot clangs behind me as she hangs it over the fire, and then two warm hands find my shoulders. “Come, sit with me and wait for him.”

But morning creeps along, and Thomas doesn’t return. Even Agnes remains scarce, and the idea of them both colluding somewhere makes me want to crawl out of my skin.

“Why don’t you go rest?” Margery asks after a time, her nerves shot after a full morning of balancing my worry with her own. Being alone is the last thing I want, but I owe her some peace, so I retreat to my room and suffer time’s sluggishness alone.

The sound of his footsteps finally graces the stairwell sometime well into the afternoon. They pause before my door, and my ears strain, expecting to hear the creak of hinges. But the sound never comes, and so I throw open the door for him.

“Master Thomas, there you are!” I say, doing my best tostrain my lingering irritation from my tone. “I’ve been wanting to speak with you.”

A coy smile crawls over his lips as he closes the gap between us, his hands moving to brace himself on my doorframe. “Is that so? What about, my lady?”

I force my feet to remain planted where they are, even when he leans his body in closer to mine. “Did you speak with the Council today? When can we return to Scopuli?”

Thomas’s smile falls into the impression of a pout, and he reaches to take a lock of my hair between his fingers. “Why would I rush to send you into another man’s marriage bed?”

I balk, stunned by his brazenness. “You said we’d leave within the week.”

“Even if I wanted us to leave now, the weather isn’t on your side, my lady.”

“What are you saying?” I hate how my voice climbs an octave without my permission. “That we’re stuck here until spring? Thomas, your own people will starve—”

I should have known that a plea to his humanity would have no effect; his stores are fuller than the other villagers’. He’ll survive the winter regardless, and the smug smile that still graces his lips confirms it.

“Don’t fret, my lady. This weather is unusual. It’ll warm up soon enough.”

“But even if it does, I’ll still be promised to Will—”

His fingers curl into a fist around my hair, and instinct drives me away from him. Thankfully, Thomas releases me without a fight, but the relief is short-lived as his smile contorts into a hideous, knowing grin. I’m frozen by the sight of it, by the knowledge that we’re both remembering last night and how it felt for him to press me against the meetinghouse. He uses the opportunity to devour me with those cold blue eyes. But the slightest shift of his body forward is enough to shatter the spell, and my hands fly to the lip of the door, ready to slam it closed.

Thomas laughs and raises his palms in submission as he falls back, turning to continue to his own room. I watch him for several breaths, closing the door only once I’m certain he won’t come charging for me.

But distance doesn’t stop him from landing one last sickening blow. His voice floats down the hall, slipping into my quarters just before my door clicks into place.

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see what happens, won’t we?”