Chapter Twenty-Four

The morning light is soft through the window of the ship. August is the first up, awakening Marigold and Lottie as he pounds on their door. The two simultaneously leap out of bed in a panic at the banging.

"Rise and shine, ladies." His voice is muffled through the heavy door. "We're pulling into port."

They rush to dress, but as Marigold tries to put on her stay, she yelps out in pain and drops it to the ground.

"Oh, Witch," Lottie says. "That tattoo is going to be sore for a few days."

She looks around—surely, something here might serve as a soft barrier between her rubbed-raw skin and her clothing. Or maybe she has something that could take away the pain altogether.

"What do you think would happen if I put royal jelly over it? That's the salve I used when your lip got stung." She starts to dig through her things, searching for the little jar.

"I think you might actually have a miracle product for tattoo artists there. Let's try it. I need to change the wrapping anyway."

She pulls the jar from a pile of dresses and twists off the lid. She turns away from Lottie as she takes off her chemise and starts undoing the wrapping around her. Suddenly, there is a tug on the bandage from behind, and she feels Lottie's warmth against her back.

"Let me," she says, her voice tickling Marigold's neck. She pauses. "Unless, of course, this would not be ‘maintaining a respectful distance,' as you so call it."

Marigold stiffens. "I'm sorry. I'm only trying to do what I think is right."

"Well, what about what I think?" Lottie wraps her arms around Marigold from behind and pulls away the bandages until the tattoo is revealed. "Turn around."

She is wary of letting Lottie see her like this again in the light of day. Lottie called her beautiful only when the darkness shielded her features so much that she could appear to be someone else. Still, she turns.

Slowly.

Lottie's hands hover on her waist, and her eyes fall to Marigold's tattoo. She smiles. "You heal quickly."

"Well, I am a magical witch," she says with a smirk, and Lottie lets out a low laugh.

"Sure you are," she says, her hands burning against Marigold's hips.

Entranced, Marigold loses her grip on the salve and it falls to the ground. The clattering sound pulls Lottie's attention, and her hands, away from Marigold. She kneels to pick up the salve quickly and says, "Sorry about that. Got distracted by my own craftsmanship."

"Right." She laughs awkwardly.

On her knees in front of Marigold, Lottie takes two fingers and dips them into the salve before rubbing it gently into Marigold's sore skin. Marigold cringes at the touch, until Lottie says, "Breathe for me. You're doing well."

Marigold takes a deep breath and tries to exhale all her confusion and worry at once.

Her fears of what could be happening to the spirits of Innisfree.

Her deepening feelings and desires for a girl who could never love her back.

Her stress regarding her sister's wedding that is mere days away.

She tries to let it all go, but it clings to her insides like hardened wax along a taper's edge.

Lottie finishes applying the salve and adds a new layer of bandages around Marigold's waist to keep her tattoo covered. Marigold begins putting her clothes back on and attempts to slip into the stay again. It's not nearly as painful this time as she tightens the ribbons. It still stings, but it's more than bearable. She slides her dress on, and Lottie fastens it at the back.

Lottie's fingers brush up against the smooth skin of her neck, but she does not linger there. Marigold ties her hair in her signature ribbon and helps Lottie into her own dress. It is one she hasn't worn before—blue as the autumn sea, and carefully covering all her tattoos with intricate lace designs. When she is caught staring, Marigold blushes.

"You look nice."

Lottie laughs. "I try. It's not every day you meet a royal family."

"We're not exactly royal, Lottie."

"Your father is as close to royalty as I'll ever meet."

"Well, that's not entirely true. There will be lots of people just as famous as him at the wedding."

Lottie stops. "And I am going to the wedding?"

"Of course you are. Why would you think otherwise?"

"I assumed we would simply wait at your estate during the event," Lottie says. Her breathing starts to quicken, and her mouth gets dry. Marigold can scarcely believe what she is witnessing—Lottie Burke is scared.

"I've never been to a wedding before," Lottie confesses. "I don't know how to dance or speak properly. I'll make a fool out of myself. I'll embarrass you in front of your family, in front of everyone."

"Lottie, I promise you it will be fine. It will be lovely and you'll have a great time." She takes Lottie's hands in hers. "I will not ever leave your side. Respectfully, of course."

Lottie laughs softly. "Promise?"

"I swear it."

Lottie pulls her into a tight embrace. August bangs on the door again, frightening them out of each other's arms. "Ladies, let's go. We've got soulmates to find!"

They gather the rest of their things and finally open the door. Staff are there to carry their things off the ship and escort them to their carriage that is waiting at the end of the dock. The three of them squeeze onto the carriage bench—Marigold, Lottie, then August—and begin the ride to Bardshire.

The estate has changed so much, and yet it is exactly the same. They ride alongside the wrought iron gate that matches the detailing on the balconies. The redbrick of their home is decorated with ivy, and the windows are open and trimmed with white shutters. Autumn has grown over the garden, summer green bleeding from the leaves until they turn gold. Red-tinted trees line the path that leads up to the steps of the estate. Decorators, chefs, and handmaidens are all scattering throughout the grounds readying the place for the wedding.

When they round the path to the front of the house, the carriage stops in front of the steps and a footman opens the door. Marigold freezes.

She cannot do it.

Despite how badly she has missed her family, she cannot face everything she left behind.

"Miss?" the footman says as he waits for her hand.

She picks up her hand from her lap, and it is trembling.

"Mari?" Lottie says. "Are you ready?"

Her bottom lip quivers. "I have not seen them in so long. I do not know what to expect."

"They are going to be thrilled to see you! I recall reading your brother's last letter to you. I know that, at the very least, he will be ecstatic," August says, and she nods, though it hardly calms her nerves.

"No matter what happens," Lottie says, offering her hand, "you will not face it alone. We fall together, remember?"

Her heart melts. When did Lottie become a source of comfort for her? Did it happen slowly, or just now, all at once? She smiles, taking Lottie's hand. "We fall together."

They exit the carriage and walk up the steps. Her anxiety starts to fade as the familiar sights all come into view: the arched marble frieze above the entrance, the gilded handle of the door, the rich scent of dark chocolate as soon as they walk inside.

She expected it all to feel more like a trap—this place she barely escaped from and was foolish enough to return to. But it doesn't, and somehow, that makes it hurt more. It was easy to be away from here when she convinced herself that it would be a nightmare, that they wouldn't even want her to return despite what was said in their letters. Now that she's here, it feels like a home she has neglected for far too long.

She must make up for that.

Lottie has not let go of her hand once. Her hold tightens with every step they take. Thousands of flowers decorate the grand staircase. The household staff gushes over her return in every room, but she has yet to run into a member of her family. Marigold's heart thunders, and her breathing turns into panting as she continues through the massive estate. Who will she see first?

Please, God, do not let it be Mother.

Lottie pauses and brings her other hand to her forehead. "Not now," she mumbles, groaning.

"Another headache, Lots?" August says. "They're becoming nonstop. I'm beginning to get very worried about you."

Lottie drops her hand and turns away, rubbing her temples and taking deep breaths. A few seconds pass and she regains her composure. Slowly, she turns back to Marigold and stares at her with great intensity. Her eyes are bright and wide open, and her lips part slightly, aghast at something. "I think I may know what is causing them."

"What?" August asks.

Before she can respond, Aster, dressed in a cloud of white, rounds the corner and collides with Marigold. Lottie and August step back, giving them space.

"Mari!" she cries as she grabs her sister in a steel embrace. She smells like apples and azaleas. She's older, marked by her sharpened jawline and light brown hair down to her waist. Oh, sweet Aster, she is so perfect and lovely and she is here. It is not a dream or a wish or a lie. The two of them sing with happy tears as they hold each other for the first time in so long.

"You are so, so late," Aster scolds, all while keeping Marigold in her unyielding embrace. Aster is right. Marigold should have visited long ago, after Althea passed and before she got so lonely. Here, in Aster's arms, she cannot recall what held her back for so long.

"But I am here now," she says.

Aster pulls her head from Marigold's shoulder and stares at her, taking in all that has changed since they last saw each other. "Thank you. I couldn't do this without you."

She wipes a tear from her cheek. "I would not let you."

Aster presses her forehead against hers. "Shall we go find Frankie?"

"What about Frankie?" Frankie says as he rounds the corner, tossing an apple up into the air and catching it over and over. When he sees Marigold, the apple drops to the ground and bounces like a croquet ball.

"Oh my, Mari!" He runs to her, picking her up and spinning her until she feels sick. He is much stronger than before, and he has grown an extraordinary amount, although he still is not as tall as August. When her feet hit the ground, she loses her balance and stabilizes herself on Frankie's shoulders. She then takes his face in her hands. There is stubble there for the first time. His cheeks have lost their youth, granting him exceptionally sharp cheekbones and their father's jawline. He's so grown-up. Did he always grow this much in a year? Or was he saving up his age, keeping it in a bottle just to drink it down the moment she left?

"I missed you so much," she manages to say. She steps back, taking in the full view of her siblings. "How dare you both grow up so much without me."

"You've changed more than both of us combined," Aster says, moving her gaze to August and Lottie. "And you have lost all your good manners. You must introduce us to your companions!"

Marigold motions to bring them forward, noticing that August's gaze is locked on Frankie. He walks up to him slowly, as if in a trance.

"Aster, Frankie, this is my friend August Owens."

"August Owens," Frankie repeats back. There is a certain heaviness in the air, as if fate has come to pass in this very room.

"A pleasure to meet you," August says, eyes wide and burning.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance as well, Mr. Owens. And who might you be?" Aster asks as she turns to Lottie. Lottie makes her way to Marigold's side immediately, urgently, as if she could not spend another moment out of her reach.

"This is Lottie Burke," Marigold says, and Lottie's eyes are ablaze with panic. She fiddles with her skirt, as if she should—what, curtsy? Shake hands? But Aster gracefully bows her head in a friendly nod, and Lottie quickly follows suit.

"Nice to meet you," she says.

"You as well," Aster says, her knowing gaze flickering between them.

Marigold blushes. "Let me get my friends settled and then I'll find you. Frankie, why don't you show August to his room? He's staying in the blue room next to yours."

"I'd be delighted," he says, extending his hand to him. August is quick to take it, and the two round the corner and their footsteps sound up the stairs.

When she is certain they are out of earshot, Marigold tells Aster, "I believe I may have made my first love match. August asked for a spell to find his soulmate, and it compelled him to come with me to Bardshire. I think I know why."

Lottie's eyes widen. "You think that Frankie is August's soulmate?"

"Did you see the way they looked at each other then? This could be it."

"Oh, how wonderful! Mari, you should have seen him on the day of the proposal. Moping everywhere like a sad little puppy." She places the back of her hand on her forehead and does a terrible impression of Frankie, saying, "Oh, I'll never find anyone; don't rub your love in my face; why couldn't I be the one with the love curse and the marvelous magic?"

She and Lottie both stiffen at the mention of the curse. Lottie nudges her slightly, one of those I-must-speak-with-you nudges that no one else can detect.

"Aster, excuse us as I show Miss Burke to her room. I'll return swiftly. Oh, and"—she leans in, whispering—"where is Mother?"

"She and Father are out picking up a few things for the wedding. They will return soon."

"Right."

Aster cants her head. "Do not get all panicky like you tend to do. She will be happy to see you. I promise."

With a deep breath, she nods and takes Lottie's hand, leading her up the stairs to her room. She opens the white door to reveal red damask walls and a luxurious golden bed, a desk that matches, and a gilded oval mirror in the corner. The gold curtains pool on the parquet wood floor. Members of the household staff follow, carrying Lottie's belongings and arranging them neatly in the room. Lottie chews her lip, clearly anxious and aching for a moment alone with Marigold.

Likely because the woman regrets coming here. It's all too much, too far, too fanciful and different for her. She'll ask Marigold for the first carriage back to the ship, and she'll disappear. When the staff leaves, Marigold braces herself for heartbreak.

Lottie starts pacing back and forth and pinching her brows.

"What is it?" she asks.

"I have a theory," she says, still pacing. She rubs her hand along her forehead.

"About the headaches?"

"Yes, all of it. The headaches. The nausea. The sudden bouts of rage, or ‘sourness' as you love to call it," she says, punctuating every word with dramatic hand motions. "I may be wrong. But I must test it." She walks up to Marigold and cups her cheek. "Do you trust me, Witch?"

Her breath hitches as she nods.

"I must warn you, this will not involve a respectful distance. Is that okay?"

She nods again, her heart racing.

"Okay." Lottie leaves one hand on her cheek and threads the other through her hair. She leans in, brushing her nose against Marigold's softly. Then Lottie kisses her.

It's delicate, desperate, it's the universe meeting itself for the first time. It is everything and still not enough. Marigold reaches up and touches Lottie's face. The woman's skin is too soft, like a kitten or a flower or some other thing that is too easily killed. Their kiss deepens, and she pushes Lottie's sleeve off of her shoulder, caressing her collarbone and feeling the first of her scars. It ignites a protective instinct within Marigold. She will do anything to keep Lottie safe. Anything to make sure that Lottie never gets hurt again. She wants to bite her, swallow her, keep her hidden behind her heart so no one else can touch her.

Suddenly, Lottie pulls away, and it feels like a blade being ripped from a wound. The woman falls back on the bed, her body convulsing violently, her eyes rolling back until only the whites are visible. She's gasping for air and choking on it. Blood streams from her nose and her skin turns white as bone.

Marigold races to her side, pulling her up to a sitting position and grabbing her chin. "Lottie? Lottie, what's happening?"

Lottie's eyes are wild and glassy as they find her. She tries to speak, but no sound comes.

"What do you need? I'll do anything." She starts to stand, intent on finding honey to help her, but Lottie does not let her go. Marigold holds her, rocking her back and forth until her breathing starts to calm and her body is barely shaking. It feels like they have been there for hours, maybe days.

"Fuck," Lottie finally whimpers, bringing a trembling hand to her face and wiping the blood from her lip. "It is real."

"What's real?"

Exhaustion is creeping over Lottie. She slowly sinks into the bed, curling into herself.

"Everything." Her eyes cannot stay open any longer. With the very last of her energy, she says, "Your magic. Your curse. It is real."