Chapter Thirty-Two

It has been said that one cannot ache more than they love, that love is all-consuming and more powerful than anything else. Marigold finds that to be completely untrue. It seems all she does is ache and wallow and wish that things were different. She feels all too similar to the way she did before she became a Honey Witch; she feels trapped.

And once again, there is nothing that she can do.

She stands at the bottom of the steps, waiting to get into the carriage behind her.

"My darling, we will miss you again so much," her mother says.

She bites her lip. "I will miss you more."

"Can you not stay, then?"

Marigold shakes her head. "Innisfree needs me." She does not give any more details, careful not to worry her already anxious mother. The only thing delaying her is Lottie, who should already be at the carriage.

"At least you'll be back for another wedding soon," her father says. "Frankie and August are so taken with each other. It's every man's dream to see his children fall so deeply in love."

Fall so deeply in love—something that Marigold will never do. She turns cold. "Right."

Her father realizes his words struck a nerve with Marigold, so he does not speak further. He simply hugs his daughter and says a silent prayer that she will find her own happiness again.

She begins to worry that Lottie has run off somewhere, that she's hidden herself in August's bag so she doesn't have to leave him. She should be here by now.

"Where is she?" Marigold mumbles to herself. "We're going to miss the ship."

Her mother chimes in and says, "You're already late, Mari. All the more reason to stay a little longer!"

A few more minutes pass, and Marigold is sure that they will not reach the ship in time if they do not leave this instant. And she cannot spare another day away from Innisfree—not when the landv?ttir had been so mysteriously ill right before she left.

Just when she is about to give up, Lottie comes bounding down the stairs.

"Apologies for being late. I had to say goodbye to August one more time." Her face is red and puffy. She is not even attempting to hide the fact that she has been crying.

"It's all right," she says, but Lottie is already barreling into the carriage, as if she cannot bear to stay one more moment, lest she feel compelled to run right back into the manor and say her goodbyes to her best friend all over again. Marigold darts into the carriage and sits next to Lottie, closing the carriage door behind them. The journey begins as the setting sun fades behind them.

"I'm sure the time will pass quickly and they will join us on the isle again in no time. August will miss you and his family too much to stay gone for too long," Marigold says.

Lottie does not speak. She processes everything in silence, leaving Marigold to wonder wildly about what she might be thinking.

Does she have any regrets?

Does she hate Marigold for casting the spell that took August away from her?

Is she still frightened of the storm Marigold summoned?

The rest of the ride is silent, save for the threatening whispers of thunder in the distance.

As they depart the carriage and make haste toward the dock, they watch in horror as their ship to home drifts off into the foggy night. They are too late, and the carriage that would take them back to the Claude estate for the night is now gone as well. A mist of rain falls around them and begins to grow into a storm. Not one of Marigold's doing—a real storm that will consume the night and all who are left exposed to it.

Lottie holds a flat hand above her eyes to maintain her vision in the rain. "What do we do now?"

"There's an inn over there, but it's very small. I don't know if they'll have room."

Lottie takes Marigold by the hand and starts to run. Mud flings upward as her feet collide with the ground, dirtying the hem of her dress. Lottie does not seem to care—it's as if she does not even notice.

She does not stop her, nor does she ever let go of her hand. Lottie is terrified of storms, and even though Marigold does not yet know why, she would never make Lottie stop and stand in fear. She knows better than most—sometimes being still can feel worse than death.

The inn comes into view and Lottie does not slow. She hurries inside, taking Marigold in with her, bringing them both to the ground in a pile of loosened ribbons and soaked chiffon.

"Sorry," Lottie says quietly as she picks herself up from the floor, offering Marigold a helping hand.

"It's fine," she says, careful not to cause Lottie any embarrassment over her fear. She turns to the innkeeper. "Do you have two rooms?"

He flips through the large book in front of him and looks up with his brows raised. "Unfortunately, I only have one room."

"That's fine," she says, and Lottie looks at her with widened eyes, as if to say, "Is it?"

Marigold responds with a stoic nod—truthfully, it worries her deeply to have to take any more time away from Innisfree. She has no idea how the landv?ttir are faring without her, and every moment that she is not with them is terrifying. But there is nothing else she can do, and she needs to protect Lottie from the storm. The innkeeper hands her a key as she gives him the money for the room. They go up the stairs, their shoes squelching beneath every step.

Her hair drips relentlessly down her body. Her dress molds to her form, leaving her shivering in the autumn air that drifts through the corridor. She finds the door to their room and opens it quickly, revealing the horrifying truth: Not only is there just the one room, with a broken window that the wind whistles through, but there is only one small bed as well. She looks at Lottie, but Lottie does not react at all. She simply walks into the room without a word and waits for Marigold to follow.

When the door closes behind them, she leans against it and finally takes a deep breath, while Lottie stares at the rain through the cracked window.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

Lottie shakes her head. "No. You know I hate storms."

She walks around the room, lighting the candles, and it comes to life with a warm yellow glow. Standing by the candle closest to Lottie, she says, "Is that all?"

Lottie bites her lip. "I miss August already. A lot. I feel so alone when he is gone."

Marigold approaches her slowly, cautiously, as if not to frighten her away. "But you're not alone. You know that, right?" When Lottie doesn't turn away immediately, Marigold walks closer. "I am here with you."

There is a hint of a smile tucked in the corner of Lottie's mouth, but it falls too quickly for Marigold to memorize all the beautiful details.

"I'll find a way to pay you back for the room," Lottie says, trying to change the subject as fast as possible.

"Don't," she says. "I have no need for it."

"I don't want to be indebted to anyone."

"You are not indebted to me, Lottie. I want to take care of you."

Lottie's mouth twitches as she fights against her frown. "I have never known myself to be anything but a burden. Even to August and his family. Do you think they wanted to take in an aimless orphan? Another mouth to feed who was not one of their own? They are good people, and the closest thing to a family that I will ever have, but I do not truly belong with them." She sits down in the wooden rocking chair in the corner and begins to cry. "And now that August is with his soulmate, he won't be living with his parents any longer. I can't expect them to continue to care for me when he's not even there. I am not theirs. I am no one's. I am no one. I am nothing and no one and I do not belong anywhere."

Marigold kneels before Lottie and pulls her hands from her face.

You belong with me, she thinks, but she does not say it, for she knows that it is not wholly true. For the first time, she thinks that she and Lottie may share a fate: They belong to no one.

They are alone.

Damn it all, why can't they be alone together?

She curses the world, just as the world has cursed her. She knows not what to say to this beautiful, broken girl in front of her. There is no comfort that she can offer, no peace that she may give.

"You are everything that I cannot have," Marigold says, which is the closest thing to the truth that she can confess without anyone getting hurt. Her hands are still wrapped around Lottie's. She had not realized how tightly she was holding on until now, but she does not let go, and Lottie does not pull away.

Lottie's eyes darken. "Shall we go to bed?" Her voice is barely more than a whisper.

Marigold shakes her head. "You take the bed. I'll take a pillow and a blanket to the floor." Marigold tries to stand and pull her hands away from Lottie, but Lottie does not let her. She tightens her grip around her hands, prompting Marigold to look back at her.

"Marigold."

"Lottie?"

"Come to bed," she says. She rises, Marigold's hands still tightly woven between hers. "Come to bed with me."