Chapter Twenty-Nine

The four of them sit comfortably in a carriage and ride toward the masquerade.

"We look amazing," August says, wearing tight trousers and a sage green and gold corset vest over a proper white shirt with a soft lace ruff. He dons his gold mask and hides the ribbons in his curly hair. Beside him, Frankie is wearing a perfectly tailored vest of an expensive blue fabric with a shimmering pattern throughout. He leaves his black coat unbuttoned, and his mask matches the vest and accentuates his blue eyes.

Marigold has a masquerade gown she wore a few years ago that she still fits into. It's almost better fitting now that she fills it out. Her breasts press against the top, making them look even fuller than they are, and her waist is cinched tightly in the corset that she wore over the dress. It is a deep red with orange and gold throughout, and the matching mask is complete with designs of dancing flames. The true jewel of the evening is Lottie with her black satin dress, complete with thick lace that covers her arms and collars her neck. Her green eyes look unmistakably feline behind her intricate mask.

She reaches up to Lottie's face, her red satin gloves smooth against her cheek. "You are bewitching."

Lottie laughs. "I should be saying that to you." Her voice is shaky.

"Nervous?"

She takes Lottie's hand and whispers to only her, "I will not leave your side. In truth, I will not be able to."

This year's theme is apparent upon arrival: le cirque des étoiles, the circus of stars.

Striped tents line the gardens. Bright balloons and ribbons and silks decorate every inch of the grounds. Glittering sculptures of stars and other celestial bodies, all made by Bardshire's finest, hang from the trees. There are acrobatic dancers, the clown laureate, and a mischievous fortune teller with a dark deck of cards.

Frankie extends his hand. "August, come with me. Let us explore and leave the ladies to their own adventure."

"Lead the way," August says, and then Lottie and Marigold are left alone, surrounded by a group of people who do not know who they are. Lottie gets many lingering glances and wanting stares. She looks wicked, seductive, and hungry.

But her eyes are only on Marigold.

"Do you want to know your fortune?" Marigold asks.

Lottie rolls her eyes. "No."

"Well, I want to know mine." She walks confidently to the fortune teller and sits down in front of her, handing her a coin. "One reading, please."

The fortune teller smiles, but her eyes remain wide and round. She stares for a little too long with a fixed, menacing expression that freezes Marigold in place.

"Of course, miss. Pick a deck." The fortune teller places two decks of cards in front of her; one is light blue and decorated with some sort of ancient runes, while the other is black with bright oil paintings of enchanting flowers. Marigold hesitates to reach for a deck but eventually finds the courage to tap on the card with a painting of an orange lily on top. "This one."

"Wise choice," the fortune teller says as her sharp teeth catch the end of the word and drag it out into a long hiss. Marigold shifts in her seat as she feels something threatening radiating off the sinister woman before her.

"I bet you say that to everyone," Lottie mumbles under her breath. It seems that the fortune teller does not hear her, or perhaps does not care what she has to say. Her eyes are pinned on Marigold like tiny needles. She shuffles her cards and then turns over one, revealing the three of swords.

"I see a struggling heart. Perhaps you are waiting on a proposal, or a confession of love that you fear will never come."

Marigold wraps her arms tightly around her body. "Oh."

Lottie's silk-gloved hand slides onto her shoulder, occasionally stroking the side of her throat. "It's not real, Mari."

The fortune teller proceeds to turn over another card—the nine of wands. "But you refuse to give up. You do not fear your broken heart. You defy it." She turns over a new card and gasps at the picture: the tower. "There is a danger growing. A burgeoning darkness. A great battle will come, and it will require dire sacrifices." The final card is revealed, and even Lottie gasps with recognition of this one. It is Death. The fortune teller smiles and runs her tongue over her teeth, as if she is savoring the taste of this moment.

"What does this mean? Am I to die?"

She shrugs. "Maybe. Maybe not. This card merely symbolizes the death of an era that does not serve you anymore. There will be change. There will be reformation. Then, if you play your hand correctly, there will be resurrection."

"I see," she says, though the words do nothing to calm her beating heart. Lottie pulls her out of the chair and holds her chin with one hand.

"Calm down, Mari. It's a circus act, not a curse."

"I thought you believed in magic now."

"I believe in yours. Not this."

For the first time, Marigold is glad for Lottie's skepticism. She does not want to believe the reading. Not tonight.

"You're right. Let's dance."

Lottie stiffens slightly, but she pushes past her discomfort. "You must teach me."

"Do not fret; I am a terrible dancer. There will be no judgment from me."

She can feel the eyes of the fortune teller upon them as they walk away, but she does not look back. Something in her core tells her to keep walking away without so much as a glance over her shoulder. She keeps her gaze on the impossible girl at her side.

There is a striped tent in the center of the gardens with light streaming out from the point at the top. As they enter, it's as if the entire world stops to look at them. She pulls Lottie to her side possessively, and they are almost immediately swept away in a mass of moving people. The enticing sound of a string quartet carries their feet through a sensual waltz.

Marigold holds Lottie's hand and puts the other on the bend of her waist. "Follow my feet, Miss Burke. I'll lead."

Their bodies are pressed together, every movement in perfect time with each other. Lottie has a few stumbles, but Marigold holds her tightly and continues leading her across the floor. Together, they are fire and wind, desire and grace, seduction and fear. Marigold spins Lottie outward but keeps a strong hold on her hand, prompting her to twirl back into her arms. As Lottie moves, the skirt of her dress flares around them like a cloud of smoke. When she is pressed back against Marigold's chest, Lottie brings her hand upward and strokes Marigold's cheek. Her fingers trail farther down, all along the outline of her jaw, down her exposed throat, and off her collarbone. Their masks scrape as they keep their faces close and sway into each other's bodies. Other masked dancers circle around them, unable to pull their gaze away. When Lottie notices all the eyes on them, she smirks.

"We've gathered some attention, Mari."

This is usually the point where she loses control of her feet and makes a mess of the rest of the dance. She has a moment of fear and panic when she sees the still onlookers around them, but she pushes it away.

"I don't care. I only see you."

"Just you and me," Lottie says as she surprises Marigold by seamlessly taking the lead in their dance and waltzing them both around the open circle in the middle of the floor. Lottie places her hands against the small of Marigold's back and dips her low, her blond hair almost touching the floor. Lottie presses a featherlight kiss to the bending point of her neck. She then brings Marigold upright and spins her to the center of the floor, chasing behind. When they reconnect, Marigold braces her hands on Lottie's waist and picks her up. They spin gracefully to the sound of roaring applause from their audience. The sounds of the violin begin to shrink, and they part at the end of the song with a curtsy to each other. Their chests heave against their tight gowns as their eyes remain locked.

Marigold's deep breathing scratches her dry throat. "May I grab you a glass of champagne?" she asks.

Lottie nods. "Hurry back to me."

With a squeeze of her hand, Marigold steps away to find a server carrying a tray of champagne flutes. As she turns, the swaying crowd disorients her. She searches the crowd frantically until she spots Lottie again and can breathe a sigh of relief.

A man in a white marbled mask steps in her way and blocks Lottie from her vision.

"Who is this exquisite creature?" he says loudly. Lottie's only response is a scoff, which he does not take kindly.

"Are you going to make me fight for your affection?" he says as he approaches and grabs Lottie's face. "Because I will fight, if need be." The moment his hand rises, Marigold all but leaps into action as she runs to them. Her hands are on his wrists; her anger strains her voice.

"Get your hands off her." She throws his wrist out of her grip hard enough to make him stumble. Her body shields Lottie from the man, braced as if she is ready to take a bullet if she has to.

"Come now, I only ask for a little fun."

She recognizes this voice. She still hears it in her nightmares. The man behind the mask is George Tennyson. Her gaze moves to his left hand—no ring. He did not marry Priya.

"What happened with your betrothal, George? Did she realize she was too good for you?" She knows she's breaking a cardinal rule of the masquerade by identifying him and using his name, but she doesn't care.

Taken aback, he says, "How dare you—" His eyes narrow, then glimmer with recognition. "I know that dress. My, my, Mari. When did you return?"

She grimaces. "That is not your concern."

"I disagree. From my understanding, my proposal was the reason you left."

She cannot help but laugh. "You misunderstand. I left for something far more important than you."

Lottie takes her hand and glares at George. "Leave my girl alone."

My girl.Marigold's whole body ignites with passion.

George laughs. "I have no interest in her. I am here to dance with you."

"She is mine," Marigold growls in a voice too angry to sound like her own. Even she is unaware of what is coming over her. Never has she felt so enraged, so defensive, and so protective of another person. Energy buzzes and clicks at her fingertips. A mild wind encircles them—something that should be impossible inside the tent. There is a deafening crash of thunder above them, as if the sky is colliding with itself, snapping the clouds like brittle bones. The entire tent gasps at the sudden sound. She stands perfectly still, solid as a spire, and her magic pours out from her in a way she has never experienced before. Her imagination runs wild with visions of George getting struck by lightning, of the entire crowd being consumed by hungry wind. Torrential rain pours from the opening of the tent, and she grins. George's eyes grow wide with fear as he turns, running into the hectic crowd until he disappears.

Lottie grabs Marigold's waist. "Mari, is this your doing?"

"I will not let anyone touch you," she growls.

"He's gone now. You must stop. People will know this is unnatural if it grows any further. It's not safe!"

Lottie is right, but she can't stop. She doesn't know how.

"Mari, please," she whimpers. "I'm scared of storms."

She freezes, feeling the terror radiating from Lottie's body. She wrestles with her rage and swallows her murderous desires. The rain slows, but it doesn't stop. As she starts coming to her senses, she feels disgusted with herself. How could she lose herself so much? How could she give in to such bloodlust? What would Althea say if she could see her now?

With all her might, she starts pulling her magic back into herself. It feels like trying to move a mountain with only ribbon and twine. Her limbs shake as magic floods her blood. She's drowning in it. She can't see, can't breathe, can't move. No matter how hard she tries, she cannot force the air back into her lungs. Blackness pools at the edges of her vision and her knees give out, but Lottie does not let her fall. The wind and thunder quiet, and a tense silence consumes the room until the people begin chattering anxiously around them. The string quartet awkwardly resumes the music, and people slowly start moving again.

Adrenaline pushes through her blood after the shock of her magic starts to wear off. She works to stand up on her own, pulling her weight from Lottie's arms.

"How did you do that?"

"I do not know," she manages to say. She has never performed such a feat, and her grandmother never spoke of an ability like this—creating a storm from nothing. She was so close to losing control of it. If Lottie had not held her there and kept her grounded, there would have been irrevocable destruction. "Are you all right?"

Lottie's lip trembles as she takes Marigold's face into her hands. "No one has ever fought for me like that before."

"I cannot help myself. My need for you makes me wicked." She presses her forehead to hers. "I would do anything to keep you safe, Lottie. Anything."

Lottie looks at her lips. "We need to run away. I need to be alone with you."

"I know a place," she says, taking her hand and racing through the crowd.

They run hand in hand out of the tent, each holding up their skirts to move faster through the garden. They nearly fly through the entrance of the hedge maze, leaves and branches scraping against their exposed skin.

Marigold does not care.

All she sees is Lottie Burke. All she feels is absolute, unyielding desire.

For Lottie's kiss, she would forsake all else. For her love, she would undo legacies.

They pause for breath at a dead end. Sweat and humid air caress their skin. They are each braced against a hedge wall for balance and steadiness, but they cannot hold themselves back from each other.

"So many times, you have left me aching with want, Mari. I have thought of you every night since we met," Lottie says breathlessly.

Marigold bites her lip as it trembles. "You have defied all that I know. I am starved for you." She moves to stand an inch away from her face, caging Lottie in her arms against the hedge.

"I am going to close my eyes, and when I do, I want you to kiss me. I want to see if the curse will have mercy on me if I am not the one to act first."

"I will try. But you must tell me if it hurts you the very second it starts. Do you promise?"

"I promise."

The tension between them is tangible, able to be held and licked and savored. Lottie closes her eyes and parts her lips slightly. Marigold grips Lottie's hands as if they are the only things that might keep her tethered to this world. She pulls Lottie close, takes her face in her hands, and kisses her. It feels like they are weightless, frozen in time. They move like they are underwater again, back in the moon pool. Lottie's tongue dips into Marigold's mouth for the first time as their hands roam over each other's bodies. Their fingers thread through each other's hair. Their passion drags them both to the ground where she straddles Lottie. Her kiss moves from Lottie's lips to her neck, to the swell of her breasts. Lottie's hands push upward underneath Marigold's dress until she reaches her hips. They are completely lost in each other, until Lottie's body goes completely rigid beneath her. Startled, Marigold climbs off her and moves to her side.

With her back arched, Lottie gasps for air, her hands clawing at her throat as if trying to break free from a merciless grip. "Cannot… breathe…" she says between gasps.

Marigold searches her pockets for a vial of honey, any honey—lavender, tupelo, black sage, whatever she grabs first. She holds Lottie still by her chin and pours it into Lottie's mouth. This is exactly why she wanted to wait until they returned to Innisfree. What if this honey isn't enough?

"Why didn't you tell me to stop?" she asks, panicking.

Lottie swallows the honey, and her heart rate begins to calm. A few intense minutes tick by, and her lips start to move. Her words punctuate her labored breathing. "I… did not… want… to stop." Her trembling hand finds Marigold's. "I… still… want… you."

Her heart swells so much that it could consume her, could rid her of all logic, but she fights against it. Her selfish heart is putting Lottie in danger. "You impossible girl, you cannot—"

Thunder cracks and booms above them. The air sours with the scent of dark magic. Shadowy swirling clouds consume the sky above like those that she summoned a moment ago against George. And then it's the attack-not-storm all over again. It's the summer of sixteen years ago. Marigold sees everything all at once, clearer than on the day it happened.

Her grandmother fought Versa in the center of the isle. Her mother's hand was skinned clean, bleeding all over her body. She was soaked to the bone in her mother's blood as Mr. Benny picked her up, held her tiny body to his chest and whispered desperate prayers for her to live.

"Mama!" her mother screamed to Althea.

"Go, Raina! Now!"

Then they were in a carriage—she was sitting next to little August. They huddled into each other, crying silently, as if they knew that they were supposed to be hiding. August's mother was putting pressure on her mother's hand. Mr. Benny was driving. The carriage was moving so fast. It was bumpy. Her mother's blood kept splattering on the walls. It got in her eyes and it burned.

"You're going to be all right," Mr. Benny kept calling from the driver's seat. "You're going to be all right."

He was crying. They were all crying.

Because they weren't going to be all right.

August's mother had a jar of honey. She was fumbling with it, trying to get it to open, but her mother pushed it away.

"It's too late," her mother said. Marigold knew then that her mother was going to die. She pulled herself out of August's little arms, stood up and wobbled on her short legs in the bumpy carriage. Her mother closed her eyes, surrendering to the loss of blood. August's mother cried over her and cursed the world. Marigold found the jar of honey, fought against the blood on the lid that made it slippery, and got it open. She scooped it out with her fist, slathered it onto her mother's wounds, and breathed.

Eyes closed, she pictured their last happy day. Bumblebees and sweet pies. Her grandmother's silly stories. Mud potions with August. Her mother, beautiful and whole, sipping tea in the garden. The world was beautiful. Her grandmother was not fighting. Her mother was not dying. And she was just a child who wanted everything to be good again.

And when she opened her eyes, it was good. Her mother's bones were no longer exposed. Her breathing had steadied. She was asleep, but she was not dead. She was not even dying. And it was good.

How did she perform such a feat at six years old without ever performing the ritual to access her full power? What could have given her such strength, and why was the same storm happening again now?

Suddenly, Marigold is back in the present. A ring of fire surrounds her and Lottie, trapping them in each other's arms.

"What's happening?" Lottie says breathlessly as she presses herself into Marigold's body. Another impossibly loud crack of thunder. The flames start to rise and lick the hem of their dresses. Marigold wraps one arm tightly around Lottie's waist and helps her stand, while she reaches her other hand up toward the sky. She instinctively curls her fingers into a fist, bringing the clouds closer. Lottie whimpers as the storm closes in on them, but then the rain comes. The clouds cry over them, soaking their gowns and putting out the mysterious flames.

When the flames die down, Marigold releases her fist, and the clouds dissipate as suddenly as they appeared. She and Lottie find their breath together as they stare into each other's eyes.

"Are you okay?"

Lottie nods. "What is happening?"

"I wish I could better explain. Something is strengthening my power beyond what I can control."

Lottie moves her hand to hold the back of Marigold's neck. She brings their noses together and says, "Must we stop now?"

Bewildered, she says, "After all that, you still do not want to stop? Lottie, if we keep going…" She runs her fingers through her hair and shakes her head. "It will destroy us both."

"Isn't it worth it?"

Marigold laughs, either in disbelief or excitement—even she is not sure. All she is sure of is that she doesn't want to stop. She wants to be with Lottie, even if it means the rest of the world will burn away. It's selfish, dangerous, but most of all, irresistible.

"You are worth everything I have," she says as she leads Lottie farther into the maze, fighting her way through unexpected bends and corners until she can find the center. She needs to be alone with this girl, and they need a place where no one else will find them. There is no better hiding spot than the heart of a dark and twisted maze. Her legs tremble with exhaustion as she continues to run with Lottie, hand in hand. The sound of the fountain that marks the center of the maze trickles behind the hedge.

As soon as they turn this corner, the world will change. She pulls Lottie around the edge, ready to tear off her dress with her teeth if she must, but something catches her eye as soon as they stand in front of the fountain.

It appears they were not the only ones with the instinct to find secrecy in the maze's heart.

Sitting on the rim of the fountain, with undone vests and masks cast aside, are Frankie and August, entangled in a wild kiss.

The sight of them pulls her out of this ridiculous daydream. She and Lottie will never be able to kiss like that again—not without Lottie suffering through more unimaginable pain. Despite Lottie's willingness to brave that, Marigold cannot let her. It's her job, her heart's purpose, to keep Lottie safe, even if she is the most dangerous thing in the world for Lottie.

She takes a deep breath, thankful that seeing Frankie and August has brought her back to her senses.

"Hello there," she says, startling the men so much that they both fall back into the fountain.

Marigold and Lottie cannot help but laugh. The way they both flail around in the water trying to stand themselves up is even funnier than the performance from the clown laureate when they first arrived.

When Frankie and August finally step out of the fountain and stand before them, they're embarrassed and soaked through.

"We were just—" Frankie says, but he cannot find an excuse. He looks to August for help.

"Kissing!" August blurts out. Frankie slaps his palm to his forehead.

"What?" August says. "It's okay. We're soulmates."

Frankie blushes, but he nods and stands next to August. "Just tell them everything, why don't you?"

"Well, they saw us, love."

"It's true, we did see you," Marigold says through her smile.

"Saw a lot more than we ever needed to see," Lottie echoes. August gives her a knowing look.

"Caught without a chaperone in the maze garden, entangled in a passionate kiss? How scandalous, Frankie Claude. What will the papers have to say about you?" she teases.

"And what were you two heralds of virtue planning on doing out here? I know why Frankie and I are soaking wet, but what's your excuse?" August asks breathlessly.

Marigold and Lottie look at each other with wide eyes. They both stumble over their responses and excuses, wringing out the rain from their hair, and August laughs. "That's what I thought."

"Wait," Frankie says. "You two?" He points to Marigold and Lottie. "But what about"—he leans over to Marigold and ineffectively whispers—"what about the curse?"

Marigold grits her teeth. "You're right. I don't know what I was thinking."

And then, it's over.

The night, and all its potential, all its promise, all its danger, is done. This can never happen again. Frankie and August wrestle with their vests and don their masks. The reality of the world clicks back into place as the four of them find their way out of the maze in silence. There is already a carriage waiting to take them home, and they pile in, exhausted and thoroughly bruised.