Chapter 40: Your Wicked Heart
SOPHIA
"Because the Pagemoores have leverage," spat Mrs. Willowmarch. "Our status gets them into rooms they otherwise wouldn’t be able to step foot in. Our influence is their influence. They will never approve of Sophia divorcing you."
"What leverage?"
"The kind that can destroy us with one blow. Never you mind that. Some secrets aren’t for you to know."
"But I’m protecting it with this marriage! We’ve been together three years and you’re only know telling me about this?"
"Because you couldn’t keep your trousers zipped!" Mrs. Willowmarch shouted. "Penelope Shire is a detriment to you, son. Only Sophia Pagemoore can be your wife. Only she can bear your children. Staying entangled with the Pagemoores ensure our continued good luck."
This was the moment I decided to go through the door. Naturally the quiet was deafening due to the shutting of the Willowmarch mouths.
"I want to go home," I said.
"I have to stay in the Capital. You can take the carriage back tomorrow morning."
"No," I said. "Tonight. I don’t like it here." And I don’t like you, either, I thought sourly. If only I could go back in time and rid myself of this man and his family.
"Do whatever you want," said Jace. "I’ll return tomorrow evening after I wrap things up at headquarters."
As if I cared what he did. I was tired of Jace, of Penelope, of the Willowmarches, and of my sad, boring life.
It was time to make some changes.
***|***|***
SOPHIA
The bubble made of that memory, soapy, greasy, foul, popped. I was left floating in the darkness again.
Was there a way out of this space with its doom bubbles?
Then another bubble rolled toward me. I couldn’t avoid it.
POP.
And then...
I’m standing on the bridge that crosses a bottleneck on Emerald Lake. It’s late at night. The moon shines, the stars gleam, and the lake shimmers.
It’s become my habit to talk a long walk around the lake when I can’t sleep, which is nearly every night of the last three years.
I am thinking about the dinner with the Willowmarches and the steps I want to take to reclaim my life. It’s been a week since that awkward family meal, and I haven’t done anything proactive.
I’m afraid.
So afraid that I cannot act. Plan, yes. Actually do something, no.
I’m such a coward.
I’ve spent an afternoon at a tea party where I was bullied by the hostess and her awful friends.
I attended because Jace insists I need to make friends with these terrible people, even though years of trying has gotten me nothing but vitriol and contempt.
By the time I get to the bridge, I’m already regretting my choices. I still wear an elaborate dress with its large hoop, miserably tight corset, and cleavage so low I could breastfeed a baby.
I feel awful.
I’ve long abandoned my shoes, where I don’t remember. My stockings are wet and torn, but I don’t care.
The wig is heavy. Wearing it is like carrying a 20 pound bag of potatoes on my head. My neck aches. And my head itches.
I’m already halfway up the bridge when I spot Penelope Shire standing a few feet away.
She’s glaring at me, arms crossed, lips thin with hate.
"What do you want?" I ask. I lift my hand and wave her off. "Nevermind. I don’t care."
"What’s so great about you?" she asked. "Why won’t Jace divorce you?"
"That’s a question for him."
"You could make him sign divorce papers."
I laugh. "Have you met him? The King of Stubborn? I don’t think so."
She stomps her foot. "You’re ruining my life!"
"To be fair," I say as I stop in front of her, "I knew him first. I was engaged to him first. He was always going to be my husband. You are the third party."
"The third party is the one who isn’t loved."
"No, the third party is the unmarried bitch interfering in my marriage."
Penelope’s anger makes her scream, and she lifts her hand. Before I can step back, her palm lands harshly against my cheek. I feel the blow in my teeth, and my cheek immediately starts stinging.
I grab my face and stagger back, out of her reach.
"It’s your fault Jace wants to kill our baby!" She stares at me, chest heaving as she takes in shuddering breaths, as if rage is her oxygen. "You’re just lucky, is all. You were born to a decent family. It gave you opportunities I never had. Is it wrong to want a better life?"
"No," I said. "It’s wrong to steal someone else’s."
Penelope laughs, but there’s no humor in the sounds.
Then she’s rushing at me, screaming, eyes filled with hatred, her smile a slash across her pale face.
The knife she wields goes into my throat. She manages to bury the knife into my flesh three times before she pushes me over the railing.
I fall.
Into the water.
Blood colors the murky deep.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t--
***|***|***
SOPHIA
I woke up. Hot. Sweaty. Throat burned. Chills wracked my body.
"Sophia, it’s okay. It’s okay." The masked man was next to me on the bed. He wringed out a cloth and put the cooled rag onto my forehead.
"Thirsty," I rasped.
"Here. Sip." He put a cup to my lips and warm water flowed into my parched mouth.
I was hot. But I was also shivering.
My stomach roiled.
"Going to vomit," I said, as an electric cold filled my belly and went up my spine.
He put a bucket onto the floor just as I leaned over and threw up. I kept going until there was nothing left to expel.
"That’s good," he said. He wiped my mouth. Rinsed out the cloth. Pressed it to my face. Neck. Chest. "You have a fever. I’m trying to cool you down, but it’s not working."
"I’ve got the fever reducer tonic," said another man’s voice.
Dr. Rhine.
"Can you drink it, Sophia?"
I nodded.
The masked man put the ceramic bowl to my lips.
I drank the medicine. After I finished, I coughed, the bitter taste still in my mouth.
"Rest. I’ll stay with you, butterfly girl."
Butterfly girl? What did that mean?
"Sleep," he said. "You’ll feel better in the morning."
