Page 124 of Immortal Rose

“Finish it,” Foxcourt growled at him.

“And with the blessing of God upon you,” the priest continued hurriedly, “by the power vested in me, I now proclaim you wedded—”

Fire—fire—everywhere, sprawling beneath my skin—the lavender, that sweetness—

The thought rose like curls of smoke in my mind. Buried beneath the lavender, drawn out by the heat of my skin—

Licorice.

Chapter Twenty-Four

I tasted the blood before I smelled it. It dripped from my nose, snaking over my lips. I choked as it filled my mouth.

“Viola . . .” Foxcourt shook me, only to go stone-still as I finally managed to lift my head to look at him. His face turned ashen, his eyes widening in terror.

Help, help me— The pain was so desperate, so acute, it blinded me. I tried to say the word. Licorice.

I clawed at the bodice of my gown, sobbing for breath. I couldn’t make out his face, couldn’t speak except to gasp out, “Take it off—Hugh—”

“I beg your pardon!” the priest squeaked.

There was a flurry of movement around me. Hands at my arms, my back, the fastenings of my dress. Somewhere nearby, something heavy fell to the floor.

“Take it off,” I sobbed, clawing at the fabric. “Take it—”

“You have to let me,” I heard Felicity cry. “I have to be the one—”

“No,” Foxcourt thundered, gripping my bodice.

The sound of rending fabric filled my ears as he tore the delicate lacework with his bare hands. The silk slipped away, collapsing into a puddle at my feet. He pulled me away from it, kicking the fabric toward the hearth.

“Good God,” the priest cried, making the holy wheel over himself. “This is the Devil’s den of sin—”

I tried to pull back from Foxcourt and the others, but there was no strength left in me, only that white-hot pain, incinerating, inescapable.

Perfume. He would smell it, the others—they couldn’t breathe it in, it wasn’t safe—

The last of my vision darkened as agony surged, melting my bones, boiling my mind to seething darkness.

I came to with a piercing scream. Something else was in control of my body now; it thrashed wildly against the hands holding it captive, each a burning brand feeding its heat into the flames. I clawed at my chest, my face, trying to open my skin to release the fire. Nothing mattered but stopping it, ending it—

Images cut through the roiling darkness like shards of glass. One of the vases shattered on the ground, flowers trampled. Fleming’s unconscious body on the carpet.

“—the bath—” someone said.

“—no time—”

“—don’t—”

Help me, I tried to scream, my face slick with sweat and tears as I tore at it. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak—everything hurt, even sobbing. My throat tore open with flaming knives. Please. Help me. Kill me.

I screamed again as arms slid beneath my legs and around my shoulders, lifting me. The friction of cloth against my raw skin was too much to bear. I fisted the fabric of a shirt, tearing at it each time I was jostled against a hard body. My sense of the world was dimming as if I was receding from it.

Mama, I thought, please—

A voice pulled on me like a tether, refusing to let me go. “I know—I’m sorry, I’m sorry—just—”

The cold water shocked me back into my body, stinging like acid as I was submerged in it.