Elswyth considered. The start of the social season was just around the corner, and to hear Mrs. Rose tell it, Elswyth had all the refinement and class of a bog mummy. But the prospect of an entire evening spent balancing books on her head filled Elswyth with a dull horror.
“You have a deal, Mrs. Rose,” Elswyth said. And with that, she swung both legs—still in sidesaddle—and slammed them into the horse. Perhaps it was not as delicate of a gesture as was required. She’d seen men spur horses before but had never seen a woman do it from sidesaddle. The result was a resoundingthunkfrom thehorse’s rib cage and then a high-pitched whine. The beast lurched forward, breaking into a sprint and nearly throwing Elswyth from the saddle.
She screamed, grabbing at the creature’s reins, but it would not yield. It took off across the field in a gallop. Elswyth, abandoning the reins, wrapped her arms around the horse’s neck. Behind her, Mrs. Rose’s horse startled, attempting to follow Elswyth. The woman screamed as well, commanding her horse to stopthis instant, but it merely thundered on. Elswyth risked a look over her shoulder and saw Mrs. Rose teetering on the saddle, holding the reins with one hand and trying to keep her hat from flying off with the other.
In her mind, Elswyth searched through the constellations of vitæ she’d memorized for any plant essence that might be useful. She recalled the essence of poppy, found the constellation of vitæ that formed opium, and summoned it to her hand. From her fingertips, she grew nettle, little needles that could pierce the skin of the horse. And through them, into the horse’s neck, she pushed as much opium as she could manage.
At first, the horse kept thundering. Then it thundered less, and less, and slowed to a trot. She lifted her head, removed her palm from where it was attached to the creature’s neck, and then gently steered it toward the hedge maze. By the time Elswyth reached the high green wall, Mrs. Rose was far behind her, having slipped off the saddle and into the grass. She followed her horse around the field, chiding the beast as it ran freely. Elswyth thought about going back for her—it had been her fault that Mrs. Rose’s horse startled—but she wouldn’t give up a few moments of privacy.
She dismounted, straightened her skirts, and led the horse to the hitching post. She tied up the reins and then stroked the beast’s muzzle.
“Sorry about that, friend,” she said. She brought her hand to its mouth, and green leaves sprouted from the veins of her wrist, followed by a shining red apple. The horse accepted it quickly, lips smacking wetly against her skin.
With her mount settled, she turned her attention to the hedge maze. The walls seemed to stretch endlessly in either direction, at least nine feet tall, shaped of twisting yew. Little red berries dotted the hedge, colorful against the shadowed green.
Before her stood the entrance, flanked by two topiary dryads, their hands reaching up to form the archway, slender arms crafted, by floromancy, from the yew. The arch itself was a marvel of twisting branches, dotted with crimson yew berries like droplets of blood. Beneath it, a passage lined by more hedges led deep into the maze. A sign on a chain across the entrance readCLOSED FOR THE SEASON. And yet beyond it, leading deep into the maze, she spied two sets of footprints in the dewy grass. They were fresh, certainly made sometime that morning—it appeared someone had not heeded the sign. She crossed her arms, looking in either direction. The field around the hedge maze was empty save for Mrs. Rose, chasing her errant horse. She doubted she’d get into any trouble for indulging in curiosity.
Elswyth lifted the chain and ducked under it, entering the maze. The hedges closed around her. She took a left at a crossroads, following the footprints as though it were a kind of game. As though she were a girl again, playing hide and seek with her sister. She took another left, then a right, and soon she’d taken so many turns that she forgot where she’d come from.
And then she heard the struggle.
It sounded like a woman, her breath ragged, her voice muffled. And then there was a commotion, the scraping of fabrics,the sound of a slap. There was a man’s voice, too, low and angry. The woman let out the beginning of a scream, but her voice was quickly muffled. Elswyth’s mind instantly went to Hazel Fairburn, to the image of the body cut open in the street. And yet she advanced toward the sound. She tiptoed along the hedgerow, keeping her footsteps silent in the dewy grass, until she turned a corner and spotted two shapes intertwined and struggling against one another. The man and woman lay in a clearing within the hedge maze, near the heart of it, where a small folly stood in the style of ancient ruins. She could see the man and woman between the fallen pillars, but she kept well hidden behind the corner of the hedge, her finger curled around the branches.
The woman was beautiful and wore a sparkling gown of sapphire silk and ivory lace. Her hair was the color of hammered gold, secured by a blue bonnet that matched her dress. Her face was delicate and well proportioned, as perfect as a painting.
The man was handsome: tall, broad-shouldered, exceedingly well built. His skin was light brown, his features belying some foreign ancestry. Clean black curls fell about his broad shoulders, reaching the wool of his finely cut suit. His shirt was open in the front, revealing glimpses of a muscular chest riddled with scars. A curious amulet hung around his neck: a huge amber, set in an ancient bronze bezel. It shone in the meager light, dangling above the woman’s face.
At first, she thought he was attacking the woman. He pressed her against a fallen pillar, her legs in the air, her white stockings exposed. The man forced himself between her legs, pulling at the back of her hair with one hand, while the other fondled her breast. She watched his hips thrust inward and outward, bouncing the woman against the pillar.
The woman covered her own mouth, trying to stop the sounds of pleasure from escaping, and Elswyth knew that she had been mistaken. The woman was not in trouble at all. She pulled the man down by his amulet, locking him in a kiss. Her other hand dug into his hair, and green tendrils grew from her fingertips, snaking along his skin.
Elswyth’s cheeks flushed with heat. She knew what they were doing—she’d read enough books on biology to understand the basics—but she’d never seen itdonebefore. Her muscles tensed, telling her to run, but her fascination won out. She stood, frozen, transfixed by the sight of them. Her beautiful face, rapt with pleasure, her ripe lips gasping for air, her breast peeking from her gown, red nipple like a winter berry against snow-white skin. And him, the tendons building in his neck, his fine jaw grinding, his powerful legs working between her skirts. She longed to see more, to see the intricacies of their anatomy. The stamen and the ovule, the seed and the pollen.
Something stirred in her, a tickle below her belly. She became aware of herself, of the way her skin felt against her gown, of her own rapid breathing, her quickened heart. Something was bound to happen, was coming any moment, but she didn’t know what.
The woman shuddered and a gasp escaped her lips. The man groaned and his head fell back, his face rising to greet the sun. For the first time Elswyth saw just how beautiful he really was.
The woman’s legs released the man’s lower back, falling open: a flower blooming, then wilting completely. Her head lolled to the side. For a moment she looked directly at Elswyth, unseeing. Then her eyes widened.
“Silas,” she hissed. “Silas!”
She pushed away from him and covered herself. The man turnedhis head, following the woman’s gaze, but by then Elswyth was already gone.
She lifted her skirts and sprinted through the hedge maze, as fast as her legs would take her. Behind her, she could hear the man shouting. She turned quickly down a narrow corridor, and then again, and again. Behind her, the man’s heavy feet hit the ground. He shouted after her, his voice ragged. But he drew closer. No matter how quickly Elswyth ran, the man was faster. Soon, he would be upon her, and then what would she do?
Elswyth turned another corner only to come face-to-face with a wall of yew. The corridor was a dead end with no hope of escape. She turned to flee but heard the man coming down the path behind her, his footsteps determined.
There was an empty niche in the hedge to her right, where a statue might once have stood. She ran toward it, grabbing the branches of the yew trees that formed the hedge. Her floromantic sense flowed into them, into their many arching branches, their myriad leaves. She could see the entirety of each tree in her mind’s eye, traced in amber light: see how their roots descended beneath the grass and mingled together in the earth. If she could force an opening in the hedge wall, perhaps she could crawl through it to the outside. She gathered the vitæ in her blood and pushed into the trees with all her might and the branches wormed away from each other, trying to disentangle…
It didn’t work. The branches were too intertwined, and all the vitæ in the world wouldn’t force them apart. Behind her, she could hear the sound of footsteps and heavy breath coming closer and closer, searching for her.
Elswyth’s mind raced, her eyes darting until they settled on the niche directly opposite her own. A topiary statue of a dryad stoodin the opening, delicately cut from the arching branches of yew, her slender arms reaching for the sky. And an idea occurred to her.
The searching footsteps of the man grew closer, somewhere in the twisting halls of the maze. She had just moments to conceal herself, and even then, she had no idea if it would work…
She stripped out of her riding habit, shirking the jacket and pulling down her skirt until she stood in nothing but a tunic and leather breeches. She stripped those off as well until she stood completely naked, the cold spring air prickling her skin. Then she fell to her knees and shoved the discarded clothes beneath the hedge, concealed by the yew. Then she stood, panting and shivering, and mimicked the pose of the dryad across from her.
Vitæ bloomed inside of her, spilling from her pores. Yew leaves sprouted from her hands, spreading up her arm in a wave, like the scales of an emerald serpent. She poured vitæ from every inch of skin: her breasts, her stomach, her face. Only her hair and eyes would reveal her, so she shut her eyes tight and summoned long branches of yew from her scalp, twisting them down over her hair, her shoulders, her bare breasts. Her hair bloomed with needlelike leaves and red berries—but would it be enough?
