Page 6 of Those Fatal Flowers
She’s the only god I know is listening.
“Thelxiope,” I say softly. Margery tilts her head to the side, considering the unfamiliar syllables. “But people call me Thelia.”
I don’t know what makes me offer the nickname to her—the same one spoken by Proserpina all those eons ago. Maybe it’s desperation to finally, after centuries, hear it again on the lips of someone new, spoken softly like a prayer. I crumple my brows in my best impression of confusion. “Where am I?”
“Oh, Mistress Thelia, forgive me! I—” The poor maid stumbles over her words, but I don’t mind—she understood me. She said my name. My skin tingles at the sound of it, remembering how it felt to have it whispered into my palms, against my neck, upon my lips.
Thelia.
“—You’re in Virginia Territory. In the City of Raleigh.”
My eyes glance toward the window. The town outside is a far cry from a city. Calling it an outpost would be too generous.
Margery reads the criticism on my face. “We’ve only been here a year and a half. This was previously just a small military colony, but—” Her mouth snaps closed suddenly. “But Mistress Bailie can explain all that later, once you’re feeling better.”
“Mistress Bailie?”
“The lady of the house. Her son, Thomas, brought you here to recover. They found you last night on the beach.”
“The beach?” I lace my voice with confusion; it’s not dissimilar from weaving promises into a song, though the effect is markedly less impressive.
Margery abruptly abandons her place at my side and motions toward the fireplace, where a large basin of water waits. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Come, can you stand?”
I nod and swing my legs over the side of the bed. Despite rising slowly, I stumble after my first few steps. This, unfortunately, isn’t an act. My body is still weak from my time at sea.
Margery rushes to my side and catches me in her arms. “Careful, mistress!”
She supports my weight to bring me to the basin and then, without a word, works to unfasten the dragonfly fibulae that clasp my gown closed at my shoulders. Seeing them makes me think of Pisinoe, the softness of her face as she fixed them in place the morning before I left.
My gown slides easily from my shoulders. The act feels symbolic, like I’m shedding my old self to be reborn once again, but there’s no joy in this.
Now I stand truly naked before her, save for the relic around my neck. The room is chilly, and my anatomy reflects it. Margery makes no indication that she notices and guides me into the tub, where warm water waits to envelop me. I savor its embrace as she wipes away the weeks of sweat and sea salt from my skin.
“Thank you,” I murmur softly, my speech languid. Despite everything, her touch is soothing.
“No need to thank me, Mistress Thelia. It’s my job.”
“Then I thank you for your kindness instead.”
A strange expression flickers in her eyes, and her delicate mouth parts ever so slightly before it falls closed again. I raise an eyebrow expectantly, but she stands quickly, hands brushing out her skirts. “I have new clothes for you. Mistress Bailie asked that you be dressed in something more…decent.”
My eyes wander to the stola still in the middle of the floor. I wouldn’t have called this style immodest before, but I can’t help but feel underdressed compared to Margery. She wears several layers, as if her skin is a thing that must be hidden at all costs.
She holds up a plain blue dress. I’ve never seen a piece of clothing look so depressing, and its true horrors aren’t revealed until I’m out of the bath and Margery slips it over my head and laces up its back.
I inhale sharply, surprised by the sudden constriction. I’ve made a mistake. This woman is trying to suffocate me, to kill me. I whirl around to meet her, my fingers like claws, my teeth bared—
“Mistress Thelia, please stand still,” Margery scolds gently before I’m upon her, and there’s something in her tone that softens me, but it’s too late. I already have her by the shoulders. Even in this form, I’m stronger than she is. I could crush her frail bones in my palms if I wished to, and sheknows it. Her eyes become large, frightened disks. The fear is genuine. I’ve seen enough of it to know.
“I’m sorry, I…” I release her, holding up my hands in apology. I what? Thought she intended to strangle me? It sounds absurd now that the gravity of my mistake is looking me in the face. “…I didn’t know it would be so tight.”
The maid’s expression is strained, but she forces a nod. “No, I apologize. I should’ve warned you…” A silent, agonizing moment passes. “May I continue?”
My hands fall to my sides in defeat as she finishes her handiwork. The fabric is heavy and itchy against my skin, but somehow, the final product isn’t as uncomfortable as I feared it would be. I can still breathe.
“I really am sorry.”
“It’s all right,” she replies, though her voice suggests she isn’t so sure. “Traveling all alone, it…it must have been frightening.”