Chapter Twenty-Nine
Proserpina“I think it’s a good plan,” Becket says quietly.
We’re all in the library, save for Auden, who went to London for an urgent Harcourt + Trask project and still hasn’t returned. How funny to think that life goes on, that buildings must be built, and meetings must be had. How funny to think that there is a world where life and death don’t dangle from the lintel of a door in the woods.
“I agree,” Delphine says. She’s clutching a mug of elderflower tea—we read somewhere that it might help with fevers—and when she lifts it to take a drink, I can see the small cuts all over her hands and wrists and forearms, like she fell into a rose bush.
The room smells of roses. We’ve become a human garden.
“What will we need again?” Rebecca asks, looking over at the blac
