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My eyelids are heavy, and the voice has fallen quiet. Did I imagine her? My hands reach out into that still darkness, desperate to find anything to anchor me to this place, this realm. They find nothing, and a broken cry shatters the silence. The sound is pitiful, an animal toiling in its final,terrible moments. The rush of skirts accompanied by a gentleshhh, shhh, shhh…makes me realize I was the one who made it.

There’s a warm hand on my forehead, followed by a murmur of approval, and then the blessed cool of water against my lips.

“Slowly, slowly,” the voice cautions. “Drinking too quickly will make you sick.”

The water is delicious enough that it could belong to the dream world, and its effect on my raw throat is nothing short of miraculous. But I can’t focus on that little wonder—not with this woman so close I can smell her. Roses doing their best, but failing, to mask the salty sweetness of sweat. The heady scent is intoxicating.

I can save them, but I need more blood.

“Proserpina?” I whimper softly, my newfound sense of calm already shattered by the desperate need to hear her voice again. But Proserpina speaks when she pleases, not when I want her to. Again, she falls silent.

“What was that?” the unfamiliar woman asks, but a knock at a door draws her from my side. She’s swallowed away in a flurry of whispers, leaving only her scent in her wake. Without her to anchor it, the essence slowly dissipates, and then there’s nothing left but my own rank odor to offend my nostrils. It’s particularly upsetting after hers, but also oddly comforting, for it offers at least one concrete answer: The Fates still haven’t cut my thread.

I open my eyes, and again, the world takes its time coming into focus. I’m alone in a small room. The walls are made of wood, and a fire flickers in the hearth directly before me. Its gentle snaps and pops obscure the creaks from the bed that accompany my shifting. The warm glow it casts signals that it’s still night.

Footsteps and muffled voices filter up from below. Slowly, I ease myself down onto the floor, my muscles screaming. Tears have collected in my eyes by the time I place my ear to the wood, along the seam where two boards meet, and wait. Breath rattles through my lips, shallow inhales and exhales that I keep as quiet as possible. There are two people speaking, I think, but their words are garbled together. At first, trying to untangle them is as futile as trying to separate commingling vapors, but then, slowly, they each begin to take their own form.

“She must be royalty—” It’s a male voice. Thomas’s.

“But from where? The francs could hint to trading with the French, but there are no reports of a civilization here…” a female voice murmurs. This one is new, distant, and calculating. It holds no music.

“A place of great wealth, apparently. To send her to sea with all that treasure…”

“A place like Spain, perhaps?”

Thomas laughs. “You think she’s a spy?”

“Ithink”—the woman’s voice climbs an octave on the word—“it’s quite an incredible coincidence a mysterious woman has arrived on our shores with such a hoard, along the very route their treasure galleons travel.”

“So what would you have me do?”

“She belongs in the pillory until we know exactly who sheis.”

“Have you been drinking seawater? Our purpose here is to find this land’s riches—to find that exact gold! And you want me to lock up the best lead England has ever had?”

“Thomas, please. Think! Bringing a strange—possibly dangerous!—woman into our home…”

“Master Sutton inspected her. She’s starving, in desperate need of water. What kind of spy is that?”

“And you’ve upset your betrothed.”

“Putting her in the pillory would have upset Cora more! She knows it made the most sense to bring her here.”

“Is that why she kept vigil until Will finally came to collect her? Don’t be foolish. She didn’t want you alone with her. The amount of treasure stays the same no matter where this woman sleeps.” Her voice drops a register. “I don’t need another mess to clean up.”

“Now, hold on—”

“I’ve said all I have to say on this subject,” she snaps, killing his reply mid-sentence. “It’s late. We’re both tired. We’ll determine the best course of action tomorrow.”

“Yes, Mother.”

The house creaks as they cross it and ascend to my floor. I hold my breath as their footsteps pad past my door, but thankfully, no one stops before it. Only now, under the weight of their suspicions, do I notice how my palms are slick with sweat.

I don’t know if I am safe. I’ve already lost a moon. It’s not only men who live here, wherever here is, but women as well.

In the hurry for my departure, I never considered what living with them would be like. How dangerous it could be.

I don’t try to stand until I’m certain everyone in the household is asleep. It hurts more than lying down did, but I still manage to pull myself to my feet and tiptoe to the door. Its wooden latch is rough in my hands, and I lift it slowly to peer into the hallway.