“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 thoseI-must-speak-with-younudges 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.
