Behind her, Fate wore a grave expression and Signa understood that the moment Death returned, he would have someone else to claim.
Blythe’s eyes found Signa’s from across the ballroom, and without a word between them, they pushed through the crowd and followed Eliza down the stairs, out of Foxglove, and into the night.
THIRTY-NINE
ELIZA WAS ON HER KNEES IN THE GARDEN, THROWING UP IN THE POPPIES by the time they found her. She held her stomach, a sloshing vial of oiled herbs clutched tight in her fist.
Signa crouched beside her while Blythe seized hold of Eliza’s hand.
“Give that to me,” Blythe demanded with the chill of a wintertime storm. “Open your hand and give that to me now. How much have you taken?”
Though Eliza looked a breath away from death, she didn’t ease her grip on the vial and instead tried to obscure it from view.
“Leave me alone,” she seethed, every bit as lethal as Signa knew she could be. What Signa didn’t expect, however, was the edge of fear in Eliza’s voice as she clamped her eyes shut and curled into the dirt. “This is retribution. I’ll come back inside once I—” She cut off with a choke as she doubled over again, bile trailing down her lips.
“She’s delirious.” Blythe shifted so that she was behind Eliza, loosening the laces of her corset as Eliza cried in relief.
“She’s dying,” Signa clarified, not needing to look up to know that Death had arrived at last. The dirt was ice beneath her fingertips, and Eliza curled into herself, unable to stop her shivering. When the shadows pooled around her, Signa bared her teeth.
I will not make the same choice I did with Blythe, she told him. I will not demand the same sacrifice from you. But all the same, I will not let you have her. Not until I try everything.
Her clock is ticking, Little Bird, Death warned. There are battles even you cannot win.
Perhaps, though it would not be from a lack of effort. Signa pried off her gloves and took hold of Eliza’s hand, plucking her fingers from the glass one by one.
“I need it,” Eliza cried, fighting Signa to squeeze the vial. “You don’t understand—”
“Mugwort.” Blythe straightened from her crouch, fingers curling into the bark of the tree she braced herself against. “There’s mugwort and tansy in that thing. You can help her, can’t you?”
“Tansy?” It was a common enough herb, often used to aid with stomach pain or headaches. But Signa had to scan her brain over the mugwort, thinking through everything she’d ever heard about it. Everything she’d ever read. Its uses, its dangers…
She froze, face gaunt as she peered down to where Eliza clutched her stomach. Not around the middle, but lower, right on the swell of her belly. Blythe must have recognized the moment that Signa understood, for she leaned closer as Signa lifted Eliza’s dress over her knees and saw exactly what she’d feared—blood. Too much of it, soaking through her undergarments.
“You’re pregnant.” Signa was breathless. How had she not realized it before? The obsession with finding a husband. Her nausea… Eliza had been pregnant all this time. Though neither she nor the baby would survive if Signa didn’t act soon.
She looked to Blythe, who had already tossed her gloves aside and was pushing up her sleeves. There was no question in the look she slid Signa, only a demand—fix this.
“If you’re going to do it, then it needs to be now.” Death’s voice was no soft thing. It was every bit as powerful as he was as it cracked through the night, awakening a fervor of determination within her. “It needs to be before she dies, otherwise I cannot allow you to claim her.”
Fate’s warning from days ago echoed in her head, causing Signa to hesitate before she set her bare hands onto Eliza. She needed to heal not just one life, but two, and she hadn’t a clue where to begin.
She shut her eyes, focusing with everything in her on helping these two. On making them well and healthy. She envisioned it in her mind’s eye, just as Fate had instructed. She pictured Eliza with full and glowing cheeks, and a child who would live to see this world. Yet as she pressed her palms against Eliza, Signa could not escape intrusive thoughts that warned her of the burn that was to come.
It was too painful. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t—
“Don’t you dare give up.” Blythe took hold of Signa’s hand and pressed it down. “Help them, Signa.”
This time as the heat crept in, Signa threw the doors open and let it consume her. She didn’t stop when it felt like fire licking up her skin. Didn’t move even when she was convinced that this magic was melting her alive, or when her eyes stung so much that she worried she’d never see again.