Chapter 14 #2
The dull thud of the coffin hitting the bottom of the grave, lighter than it should be, given how much of Will was missing. How Cora winces each time dirt hits it as men work to refill the hole that will cradle him until he’s no more than dust.
The fog lifts only once the rest of the villagers have already gone ahead, making their way back inside the safety of the gates. A pang of guilt flicks at my heart, wind on a chime. This isn’t what I wanted. Not at the end, not once I knew him.
“Goodbye, Will,” I whisper down to the earth. I didn’t see much death as a child. The emotions it brings are difficult to navigate. Sorrow at the loss of a friend, relief that his death wasn’t by my hand, confusion as to why it had to happen at all. At least I know who’s responsible for it—many people tonight will go to bed scared of an evil they can’t place. Little do they know that one monster this city holds has already achieved his goal. For now, no more blood will be spilled in his pursuit of it.
Funeral feasts were common among the mortals of my time, and though the custom persists into this age, the meetinghouse holds no feast today. There are plenty of those offensive hard biscuits, and a few crocks of a watery broth, but there’s simply not enough food left to do Will’s life justice. Still, the eyes of the poorer residents of the village, like Margery and Jeremie, light up at the sight of it all. How dangerously close we all are to passing into oblivion.
We might all starve before the men follow me back.
What a terrible waste that would be.
People file into their seats, and a fresh wave of anxiety rolls over me. As Will’s betrothed, I’m expected to sit at the head table, where I find Cora glaring at me: a warning not to get close. I heed it. The last time someone looked at me with such disgust, she banished me to Scopuli. Where would Cora send me if she had Ceres’s powers? Master Sampson’s Sunday warnings of scorching fires that burn eternal come to mind. Though her Hell doesn’t exist, Cora might rest easier if she knew I was marked for the pit of Tartarus. From what I can tell, the two places aren’t that dissimilar.
Emme motions for me to sit at the table with her, Wenefrid, Margaret, and Rose’s friend Jane. The others bristle as I approach, but Emme shoots them a look that keeps their objections quiet. We’re silent for most of the meal. I take a large sip of wine, hoping to either push the anxiety away or bury it with drink.
Cora excuses herself from the table, stumbling a bit from self-medicating when she stands. Without thinking, I hop to my feet to follow her. I catch Emme reaching for me from the corner of my eye, and though she means well, I’ve been waiting for this opportunity since Will disappeared. Nothing can keep me from Cora now.
I find her outside, leaning against the meetinghouse wall, close to where I kissed Will. How have five weeks already passed since then? Her face is buried in her hands as she heaves loud, grotesque sobs. I open my mouth, hoping to find something comforting to say, but what words exist for the weight of this moment? Instead, I take a cautious step forward. Snow crunches beneath my boots, and Cora whips her head up at the sound. When she sees me, she laughs. The noise is hateful, and I wither beneath it.
“What do you want?” she sneers, returning her weight to her feet.
“To make sure you’re all right.”
“I’m not,” she growls, her words coated with venom. “Someone murdered my brother, most likely because of you.”
“Cora—”
“It made me start to wonder…What do I actually know about you? Maybe Agnes was right to be suspicious—maybe you are an agent of Spain after all. Or perhaps something worse, sent here by Lucifer to lead us into sin. Whoever you are, you’ve done a great job turning us all against each other.”
“You know who I am. I’m your friend.”
“So you plan to rebuff Thomas when he proposes to you?”
“Cora, please—”
“Listen.” Her voice drops to a register reserved for warnings: a snake’s rattle or a lion’s growl. “If you were my friend, you wouldn’t have stolen my past and my future in the samenight. Unless you mean to tell me that you’ll decline Thomas’s offer?”
“With Will gone, he’s the winner…” The words are weak, for she’s right: My actions are unthinkable. But even though I spend my idle moments imagining the sound of her voice whispered into my hair, the feeling of her sweet breath on my neck, I’m not here for her. She doesn’t know, can’t ever know, what’s truly at stake.
My sisters, I want to scream. They’re depending on me.
And I’m running out of time.
Cora spits at my feet, the glob of saliva barely missing my left boot to land in the snow.
“I don’t want him, Cora! I never wanted him!” I reach for her hand, as if somehow our skin touching can convey the sincerity of this small truth. “You must know that all I’ve ever wanted is—”
“Don’t.” She flinches away from me before I can find her. “Don’t you dare.”
The hatred in her voice steals my confession from my throat. “Please, believe me. I never meant for this to happen…I care for you, Cora. And I cared for Will, too.”
“Oh, I know you cared for him. You’re a seductress. A whore.”
I balk beneath the weight of her anger. Who exactly is she accusing me of seducing? Is it only Will and Thomas, or does she count herself among the ranks?
“I know what you two were up to, sneaking around when I was doing anything possible to keep Thomas’s affection. But you must not have cared much for Will, given that you’re already willing to sell your cunt to Thomas.”
I’ve never heard Cora speak so profanely, and the word echoes in my mind, drawing shivers up my back. Cunt. Cunt. Cunt.
“You know it wasn’t like that between us.”
“So you never laid with him?”
I open my mouth to speak and then close it. It would be so simple to lie to her now, far easier than explaining the truth of what Will and I shared, but where would I even begin?
“This is your chance to speak honestly. And not just about Will. You’ve been hiding something from me, from us, since the moment you landed here. None of the men care to investigate because they don’t want to jeopardize their chance at unimaginable wealth, but don’t think that we can’t sense something isn’t right. Tell me everything now, or don’t speak to me again.”
If Sybil was exiled for healing an innocent man, I won’t be given the chance to flee into the safety of the woods—my story will cost me my life, and swiftly. And yet, as I stand before those searching green eyes, there’s a part of me that wants to tell her everything. If it were only my future at stake, I would drop to my knees and confess it all, from the very beginning. Every shameful secret I’ve ever kept, I’d give to Cora willingly.
But the gods aren’t known for offering second chances, and my sisters need me to succeed. I owe them that, after all the years Scopuli stole from them. That I stole from them.
“I can’t…” My chest tightens as the words leave my lips. Her stare hardens.
“Then keep your distance,” she says. The words are cold, plated with a finality that chills my blood.
“Cora—”
“Goodbye, Thelia.”
There’s something in her voice, buried in the anger, a seed beneath snow. It’s sorrow. The tone makes me reach for her again, but my hand finds nothing but empty air as she retreats around the corner, out of sight.
I catch glimpses of her through the windows, watch her figure vanish behind corners, and overhear her name on other lips. It feels as if Cora died, too, now no more than a ghost who haunts me with near misses.
I’m surprised to find that her absence hurts as much as Proserpina’s did, although the pain is a different shade. Proserpina was taken from me against her will, and the guilt of playing a role in that violent act warped my insides into something as monstrous as the exterior that Ceres gave me to find her. But Cora is still here, just out of reach, disgusted by me—and with good reason. I always assumed Proserpina must have despised me, too, but I never had to see it. The image of Cora’s twisted face, of the twinge of longing in her goodbye, torments me just as much as those earlier memories of Proserpina, bathed in moonlight, smiling up at me from that secluded pool.
I’ve taken to following Margery around like a sick dog, eager for kindness, which is why I eat breakfast in the kitchen instead of in my room. Behind me, Margery stirs away at another crock of watery soup. I don’t have the heart to ask her what she’s flavoring this one with. The spoon clinks against the rim of the pot erratically, and I turn away from the woeful meal before me to watch her.
Her eyes are locked on me, and we both startle. I wasn’t expecting her to be so intently focused on my form, but to be fair, she wasn’t expecting me to notice. It’s not common for people to pay her much attention.
“Are you all right?” I motion my head to her vigorous mixing.
“Forgive me, Lady Thelia, I didn’t mean to stare…” Wisps of blond hair poke out from beneath her coif, further evidence of her nerves. Her eyes dart to the wall and then back to me, teeth chewing on her bottom lip while she searches for words. My heart begins to pound as I watch her. I imagine a stale smell filling the space between us, the anxiety I’m certain is dripping from her pores. “It’s just something I heard from Elyoner this morning…”
“What did she say?”
“Well, she heard from Alis, who overheard it when her husband was talking with Master Lacie over an ale—” She wrings her hands in her apron.
“And?” I can’t keep myself from interrupting her. The way she refuses to meet my gaze makes me uneasy.
“Last night Master Thomas went to speak with Master Richard—”
“Why?”
“I’m trying to tell you, Lady Thelia!”
I bite my tongue and motion for her to continue.
“He ended his engagement to Cora.”
Despite being seated, I cling to the table for support; I can’t breathe. I knew this moment was coming, but I hoped Thomas and Mistress Bailie would have the decency to wait. Will hasn’t yet been buried a week.
“Master Waters was devastated…he tried to throw Master Thomas out on the streets but was too weak to do so. Even still, he made quite the commotion.” She pauses for a moment, as if considering whether she should continue. “People are saying he did it so he could marry you, Lady Thelia.”
I push myself up from the table so abruptly that my bowl clatters onto the ground with a loud bang, but thankfully doesn’t shatter.
“Damnit!” I curse, before dropping to my knees to clean up the gruel that’s splattered across the packed dirt floor.
“It’s all right, let me…” Margery places a warm hand on my shoulder, and tears spring to my eyes at the kindness of the gesture. I look up at her, trying to will them away before they can spill over my cheeks. I don’t succeed.
I’ve been here for only a few short months, and in that time, I’ve taken everything from Cora. How can I possibly begin to explain to her that none of it was personal? That I never meant to hurt her? That I know what it feels like to lose everything you’ve ever loved, and that excruciating pain is the last thing I wanted for her?
“I have to find her.” My voice is frantic, the words tumbling out of my mouth one on top of the next.
“She won’t want to see you. Not yet.” Her tone is gentle as she moves to dry my wet cheeks, but her words cut like coral. No, sharper. Like talons.
I moan, nearly collapsing to the floor at the idea of being permanently exiled from Cora’s Eden and into Thomas’s Hell.
“Thomas is still the most powerful and respected man in the village. The men see this as an obvious next step for him, but I wouldn’t count on any kindness from the women.”
I look down to my hands. I can feel my cheeks flushing with shame.
“What do Emme and the others think?”
“Cora has been our friend for years…” Margery smiles sadly at me, answering my question without answering it at all. “Regardless of what they think, they know better than to incur her wrath.”
“I didn’t ask for this.” The sentiment rings hollow, hanging in the air for Margery to examine. Yet it’s all I can think to say.
“I know, my lady. We rarely do.”
Her words twist my insides into knots as I mull over them. I spent eons imprisoned on a rocky shoreline as punishment for a savage act committed by a god. Proserpina was kidnapped by someone old enough to be her father thousands of times over. I know it was my cowardice that sent him to her, but I’ve been punished for it every single moment since. Where was Dis’s punishment? The stability of Cora’s future was tied to her betrothal to Thomas, and he tossed her aside without a second thought. How often were we warned as children to watch ourselves around men, to guard our purity with our lives until the moment our fathers deemed us old enough to be traded for status, wealth, prestige?
Margery’s gentle gaze reveals a horrifying truth: Despite the slow, torturous passage of time, despite the changes in technology, and language, and dress, our lives are still ravaged by all the things we didn’t ask for, and those who do the ravaging never have to pay for it. My jaw clenches so tightly that the taste of copper blooms in my mouth.
I spend the rest of the day moored in my room, awaiting the inevitable. This time, I don’t lock myself in. It’s the cosmic punishment that I’m owed, isn’t it? And after losing Cora for good, I no longer feel compelled to hide from it. I watch the street from the window, praying for a glimpse of her slender frame through its wooden shutters, but she doesn’t materialize. Those who do pass slow their gait as they cross beneath the house’s shadow, entranced by the gossip born under its roof. Word travels quickly here, just as it did in Ceres’s palace.
Thomas doesn’t return to greet his new bride until after night falls, and when he does, he bursts through the front door with such force the entire house shakes. He laughs boisterously and bids good night to several other low, indistinguishable voices, perhaps accomplices in his treachery.
Then his footsteps begin up the stairs. He makes it to the landing, and, like always, he stops outside of my room. But tonight, he doesn’t just linger; tonight, he throws the door open, enters my space uninvited, then closes himself insideit.
I’m sitting in front of the fireplace with Cora’s Bible open on my lap. She left it here before Will disappeared, and even the word of God isn’t enough to bring her back to reclaim it. I’d been trying to force meaning from its stories, as if by somehow understanding the core of Cora’s faith, I could convince her to come back to me. I close the tome gently and set it on the floor.
Thomas grins as he strides toward the fireplace, holding his hands out to the flame’s warmth.
“It’s done, dear Thelia.”
I don’t answer him. He reeks of alcohol.
“Master Waters didn’t take the news well, but Cora handled herself with grace.” He pulls a golden ring from his pocket, turning to present it to me. “Your ring, my queen.”
I allow him to slide it onto the same finger Cora wore it on when it was hers. How ugly this golden band is—a visible symbol that I no longer belong to myself.
He never officially asked me to marry him, never confirmed that his second place was enough to win my hand and the treasure that comes with it. He simply assumes he’s entitled to me, and why shouldn’t he? This is a man who has never been told no. He’s both spoiled and wealthy, a dangerous combination.
He drops to his knees to crawl toward me, though not in supplication. When he’s close enough, he grabs ahold of my legs and buries his head in my lap. My hands slide up the arms of the chair as my entire body recoils from his touch. He digs in deeper.
“I can’t wait to taste you.”
“Stay back,” I hiss, pushing his face away. He looks up at me with a grin.
“You can only play coy for so long, sweet Thelia,” he says.
“I’m not your wife yet,” I growl, managing to kick my legs free. He falls onto his backside with a loud thud, and I jump to my feet. Thankfully, he’s so slammed with drink that he can’t follow me. He doesn’t have the coordination right now to punish my petulance with a smack.
“Technically,” he concedes. “But you weren’t Will’s, either.”
“How dare you—”
“Don’t bother pretending, my lady. Will could never keep secrets from me.”
“You can have me as soon as we set sail for—”
“I know, I know. We’ll go as soon as the weather permits. I have no reason to delay, not now.” He crawls back to his knees, and then rises to his feet. “But I can keep a secret if you can…”
When his hand reaches for the top of my nightgown, I slap it away, staring daggers. For now, he heeds the warning and stalks to my bedroom door, miming disappointment.
“I won’t wait much longer,” he warns. My stomach flips.
Once he’s gone, I rush forward to block the door, but the act brings me no comfort.
From now on, there will be only sleepless nights in the Bailie house.