Текст книги "The poison daughter"

Автор книги: Sheila Masterson

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11HENRY

When we step inside Guardian’s Crossing, I help Harlow out of her cloak, and she immediately starts toward the bar like she owns the place.

“Don’t worry, I’ll put it on your tab,” she says before I can offer.

I silently thank the Divine that my family has the money for whatever outrageously expensive bottle of wine she’s going to order.

Bryce and Carter are seated toward the back of the room at a table by the window. I push through the crowd, trying to ignore the grating music.

Mercifully, they have a mug of ale waiting for me.

“That was quicker than I expected. How was the murder?” Bryce teases. “Did you help her hide the body?”

“Keep your voice down,” I say, snatching up the waiting ale. Carter pours me a whiskey to go with it.

Bryce winces and lowers his voice. “Sorry. I’m just invested since I tipped you off in the first place.”

I’m glad I had him standing watch. I knew she wouldn’t just go along with a normal date night.

I sigh. “Yes. Thank you for trailing her earlier. You didn’t happen to notice how she managed to ditch her bodyguard?”

Bryce shakes his head. “No. She just kind of came out of nowhere and dashed across the front driveway so fast I had to run to catch up.” His gaze darts past me. “Where is she?”

I nod to Harlow. She’s leaning an arm on the bar, looking at me and my friends. She lifts a hand and waves.

“Fuck me! That’s her?” Bryce seems a second from drooling as he watches her lean across the bar. “I didn’t get a good look at her in the cloak. That’s quite a dress.”

I scrub my hands over my face. “That dress looks like it belongs in a brothel.”

“Looks like it belongs on my bedroom floor, more like,” Bryce says.

“Will you shut up?” I snap. “We’re trying to get information out of her, not worship her.”

“I don’t know,” Bryce says. “I can think of a lot of ways I’d worship her if she let me.”

A strange prickle of something akin to jealousy twists in my chest. I blow out an exasperated breath. “Can you stop drooling over her long enough to get information out of her?”

Bryce frowns, chastened, as he takes a long gulp from his mug.

“I can’t tell if you’re mad at her for being gorgeous or mad at yourself for noticing,” Carter says.

I scowl at him.

“Am I supposed to pretend she’s not?” Carter presses.

“You were supposed to be a good companion and friend.”

“And honesty makes me neither?” he asks.

“Honesty makes you tedious,” I grumble.

Carter laughs and throws back the rest of his ale. “Look at it this way—you’ll certainly enjoy taking her to bed.”

I’d been trying to put the thought of it out of my head, but watching her bend suggestively over the bar to speak with the bartender brings to mind the image of her bent over like that for me.

“What’s she like?” Carter asks.

“Vicious. Angry for no reason I can comprehend. The woman has had everything handed to her⁠—”

“I thought you, of all people, would be the first to be a little more discerning. You know well that privilege is not always what it seems,” Carter says.

“Are you sympathetic to our enemy?” I ask.

“Of course not, but it would be foolish and show a lack of training and temperance for you to presume to know her when you’ve only just met. Do you know why she’s looking for men to kill?”

Carter is so pragmatic—so calm in the face of chaos. I’ve admired that quality as much as I resent it at times like this, when I just want him to agree with me.

“No,” I say.

“Then you know nothing,” Carter says. “What could be a more important thing to know about her than the answer to that question?”

He has a point. The entire purpose of this arranged marriage is to get close to her and figure out how to tear her family apart. Her nightly activities are obviously a thing she doesn’t want them to know about, as evidenced by her lack of bodyguard and her oblivious city watch brother.

“How am I supposed to get anything out of her at all? While she might not hate me specifically, it’s clear she hates that she’s being married off.”

Before we arrived in Lunameade, this task seemed easy, but Harlow is right. I’m not nearly as good at reading people as she is. Mountain Haven is vast now, built up from nothing, but it’s not the city. She’s seen more of men than I could ever hope or want to. So what makes her so violent when she could live a cushy life of comfort?

Curious people die quickly around here, and I already know Harlow has no issue with murder, but I need to figure out why she’d take such a risk.

I glance back at the bar. Harlow said she was getting a bottle of something and then she’d join us, but she’s been chatting with the bartender for a while now.

“I thought she’d dress more discreetly. She looks⁠—”

“Arresting?” Carter suggests.

I roll my eyes. “She looks adequate.”

“That dress is a weapon,” Carter says. He nods to the bar, where every single man’s gaze is trained on her—or, rather, the back of the dress. “Though you’re right. It’s not exactly the best way to stay under the radar. I think the whole place is staring at her.”

A quick glance around the bar confirms that most of the room does seem to be trained on her. She’s half-bent over the bar, pouring herself a glass of sparkling wine and laughing as the bartender slaps her hands from the bottle. The woman reaches to tuck a hair behind Harlow’s ear and then rubs her temple. The gesture is soft, intimate, and for a moment Harlow is bare-faced. She smiles indulgently and winks at the woman.

“Looks like they’re close,” Carter says, startling me from my gawking.

I take a long swallow of whiskey and it burns all the way down. “It seems so.”

That’s something I can use. Perhaps she’s not as cold-hearted as she likes to seem.

Harlow grabs the ice bucket and some glasses and starts across the room toward us, her eyes shooting daggers at me.

Carter clicks his tongue and leans forward in his chair. “I don’t know why you’re pretending you’re not interested. You love exotic things. How could you not like your poison princess and her violet eyes?”

“They’d likely be more effective if I could see them,” I say.

Carter grins. He loves to throw it in our faces that he can see color and we can’t, but that strangeness in our magic is still a mystery. Though all of us who nearly died in the Drained attack ten years ago couldn’t see color for a time, those who fall in love seem to get that back through a divine mystery we still don’t understand.

Carter’s color returned when he fell in love with Naima. He claims it happened the first time he saw her, but I’m fairly certain it was several minutes after that, when he used a crude pickup line on her and she dumped her ale on his head.

“Keep your voice down,” I snap. “I told you her magic so you could watch your back, not blab it in the middle of a crowded bar.”

“These men are too shit-faced to hear anything but the sound of their own lewd thoughts,” Bryce says. “The way I see it, there’s no reason you can’t do your assignment and enjoy all its considerable benefits. She looks like she’s planning your death.”

Carter shakes his head and claps Bryce on the shoulder. “It’s twisted that you’re into that, my friend, but it explains so much about your love life.”

“Spoken like someone boring and settled who forgets how much fun a good hate-fuck can be,” Bryce says. “Harlow, let me help you.” He launches to his feet and helps her set the glasses and bottle on the table. Then, he takes her hand and makes a show of bowing to kiss it.

“What a gentleman,” she says.

I don’t miss the way she bends toward him, offering an eyeful of her cleavage as she takes her seat. Bryce doesn’t even pretend not to notice, letting his eyes linger on the swell of her breasts.

“That’s a lovely dress,” he says.

“This old thing?” she says, running her fingers down the plunging neckline.

Bryce tracks the path of her finger until I slap his arm.

“Eyes to yourself. That’s my fiancée,” I say.

Bryce tips his head back and laughs as he opens the bottle. “You’re going to have your hands full with this one. She’s way too pretty for you.”

Harlow preens, but I can tell she’s just trying to get a rise out of me. It’s so irritating that her technique is working. For a breath, I fantasize about how much easier this would all be if I could simply manipulate the truth out of her.

“So, what are we doing here?” I ask. “I’d really like to know who is responsible for my mother getting hurt.”

Harlow clicks her tongue. “Relax, mama’s boy. We are all motivated to find out what happened last night. Bea is well-connected, so I thought I’d ask if she’s heard anything.”

Bryce hands her a glass of bubbling wine, and she sips it.

She hums in satisfaction and grins at me. “I hope you don’t mind, my wolf. I had her put this exceptionally expensive bottle on your tab.”

I frown. “I hope that she has something valuable for the price of that bottle.”

She purses her lips. “She said that she heard a few drunks in here last night, an hour or so after the attack, who let it slip that there’s a rebel meeting place at a bar near North Hold. That’s Rafe Mattingly’s territory. I loathe him and I also think there’s a strong chance that he’s Rochelli. It would be out of character for him to be so sloppy. So either he planted that information, or he’s bold enough to try to bait my family to do something.”

“Isn’t he the mayor?” Carter asks.

Harlow sighs. “Unfortunately.”

“I don’t understand your politics,” Carter says. “What does the mayor do?”

She sips more wine and licks a drop from her lips. “It’s a largely ceremonial position. It was designed to keep the common, unblessed people appeased, with the feeling that they voted for a leadership position. Three years ago, my father lost the election. He was the first Carrenwell ever not to be reelected his entire lifetime. Every other head of our family has held both the real, magical rulership position of keeping the boundaries strong against the Drained, and the ceremonial position of listening to common folks’ concerns about things like sunstone light rations.”

Bryce pours her more wine. “So Rafe is a bit of a thorn in your father’s side?”

It’s so smooth, I almost miss it, but he’s trying to keep her talking.

Harlow arches a brow at him. “Don’t get any ideas. The man cannot be reasoned with and it would be silly to think you can outsmart him. Rafe Mattingly is well-connected and the only master he serves is himself. He has no honor. No morals. And no soul. How do you think he managed to pull one over on my father?” She waves a hand. “Say what you will about Harrick Carrenwell. He’s many awful things, but he takes his responsibility very seriously, and people take it for granted.” She stops abruptly, her eyes go unfocused for a moment before clearing. I wonder where she goes in those moments. I know she’d bite my head off if I asked.

It’s clear she doesn’t have much love for her father, but she does have respect. That in itself is valuable information.

“So the people blame him?” Carter asks.

Harlow shrugs a shoulder. “We’ve been more isolated in recent years. It takes more magic to maintain the boundaries. The unblessed used to have to visit the Blood Well once a month, but now we ask them to go twice a month—only those well enough and old enough to do so, of course. There are no children or elderly.”

I frown, thinking of the old man we saw the city guards dragging into the square the other day. I wonder what they consider too old to bleed—or too young, for that matter.

“How does it work? The magic? The bleeding?” I ask.

She sips her wine slowly—stalling. “Have you been away so long that you forget? Surely you remember your own well ceremony?”

“Humor me.”

Harlow sighs and pours the last of the wine into her glass. “Every new moon, all the one-month-old babies in the city are brought to the Blood Well, whether their families have magic or not. The Divine work in mysterious ways and no one knows how they choose to distribute their blessings. The children are submerged in the flowing waters at the bottom of the well, and they come out with magic or without. There is always a Carrenwell on site to record the glow of their aura color so we know which of the Divine they’ve been blessed by. If the child has magic, they’re registered for a spot in the Divine Blessed School to learn how to wield it. If they don’t have any, they continue their normal schooling and commence their bleeding days when they turn sixteen.”

“How do you keep track of how the blessings present in each child?” Bryce asks.

Harlow shrugs a shoulder. “It’s largely reported by the parents.”

“They’re so forthcoming?” I ask. “I thought magic was a well-kept secret in the city.”

She cocks her head and looks at me like I’m a moron. “Yes, but non-magical parents are usually terrified and eager to have help. They trade the secrecy for safety. And those from blessed families can either help guide their own if they have similar gifts, or they can request help from my family to place them with the appropriate tutor at school.”

Carter leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “It’s that simple.”

“It is,” Harlow says. “The complication is the increase in bleeding days, but with the growing attacks by the Drained, our families have needed to extend much more magic.” She pauses to sip her wine. “They forget that the blood of their sacrifice is to please the Divine, not my family. Not everyone likes the changes, but it’s easy to be outraged when the danger feels far from you. We’ve never had a breach penetrate beyond the B gates. Considering the population of the Drained now, that’s impressive. The darker winter months are always a challenge, and it takes tremendous resources to keep the walls strong. If you never see the enemy at the gates, it’s easy to forget the danger.”

We fall into contemplative silence. Carter, Bryce, and I all know well enough the threat the Drained pose. We also know the struggle of protecting people and the way they resent the very rules that keep them safe.

It’s one of the reasons we’ve risked crossing the stretch of Drained Wood to get here.

“That’s why the rebellion is stirring,” Harlow continues. “The non-magical folk believe my family is taking advantage of them, and I can understand how it might look that way if you don’t see how much work it is to maintain the nightly holy fire protection wall.”

“And Rochelli is stirring them up?” I ask.

Harlow waves a hand. “Yes, I suspect he’s more of an instigator than a true leader.”

“And you think he’s the mayor? No other theories?” Bryce asks.

“I’ll admit I’m biased. Rafe’s just been chipping away at my father’s power for years now. My father thought marrying him off to my sister Aidia would be enough to rein him in.” Her face twists into a disgusted frown.

“It wasn’t?” I ask.

Harlow laughs bitterly and takes a long gulp of wine.

“But why attack during the engagement dinner?” I ask. “He was there. He danced with you right before the Divine-damned explosion.”

“Yes, but what better cover than that of a victim? And if memory serves, he wasn’t in the room when it happened.” She meets my eye. “Neither were your parents.”

“Neither was your brother Kellan.”

She rolls her eyes. “Point taken, but I noticed something curious. Only one person moved before the blast went off, and that person was you. How do I know that your family wasn’t responsible and just using the rebels as a convenient distraction?”

I’m impressed that she thought of this, but I’ve been dreading her bringing it up. If her stupid bodyguard hadn’t confirmed it after the fact, she might have let it go.

I shrug. “Wish I could have taken credit, but if I’d done it, I would have made sure I was farther from the windows. Just because I can heal quickly doesn’t mean it’s fun to take the brunt of all those glass shards.”

She purses her lips and offers only a mildly skeptical look. I’m desperate for a distraction, and Carter must read it because he leans forward.

“If you two are done bickering, I have a question about the well ceremony,” Carter says. “Could someone hide a baby’s aura?”

Harlow shakes her head. “There’s always a Carrenwell there to witness, and since we can see magic, we would also see any kind of glamour they used to hide it. That’s how I know you have a blessing from Polm.” She turns to Bryce and winks. “And you have a gift from Kennymyra. We don’t get many of those around these parts.”

“How do you know?” Bryce asks, looking down at his body like he’ll be able to see his own magic.

She grins, twirling her wine glass on the table. “It’s the color in your aura. Yours is red. Must admit I’m very curious to know about your magic.”

Bryce leans toward her, a lazy smile on his face. “I’d be delighted to show you.”

I don’t like the way they’re eyeing each other. She doesn’t look like she’s just doing it to fuck with me anymore—she’s actually curious. Not that I care.

My head is spinning. I’m relieved that my parents have been wearing their cloaking rings. She’s offering a lot of information freely. So much that I don’t trust that it’s real, or that she doesn’t have some other motive for being so forthcoming.

I tap a knuckle on the table. “That hardly feels foolproof. I tricked you the night we met.”

Harlow scowls at me, the skin on her neck and cheeks darkening from pale to light gray. She’s blushing.

She clears her throat. “If I hadn’t been so distracted by my impending unwanted nuptials, I might have paid closer attention.”

“Yes, I’m sure it was that and not the fact that you were ready to let me fuck you through the bed,” I taunt.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I was annoyed my parents were selling me off again⁠—”

“Again?” Bryce interrupts. “You were married before?”

Harlow feigns a pout. “Did you think I was just an old spinster?”

Bryce leans forward and winks. “Of course not. It’s just that Henry tells us nothing.”

“Yes, I was married before. To a man named Marc Beckley. He passed,” she says.

We all look at her expectantly.

“May Divine Asher deliver his soul safely beyond the veil,” she says, a beat too late.

Bryce laughs. “You seem pretty broken up over it.”

“It’s been six months. I’ve had some time to adjust,” she says. “I had faith the Divine would bring me my true love, and here he is—” She gestures to me and pretends to swoon. “How fortunate I am.”

“You’re so sincere,” I say.

She leans back and takes a long drink of wine. I watch for any sign that she’s sharing because she’s drunk, but she handles herself well. I go back through my memory. She had at least half the bottle at the last bar, plus another glass and a half at the table. She should be feeling it, but she looks unruffled.

“I think it’s fair to say that after thirty years I’m tired of being a pawn in my father’s games,” Harlow says. “I don’t want to marry you any more than you do me, and it doesn’t do either of us a kindness to pretend otherwise. It’s cleaner to call it what it is—a marriage of inconvenient necessity. It’s a job, and we will approach it with mutual professionalism.”

“Fine.” I lean back and eye her. “Your blessing is from Polm?”

Her gaze flicks from Carter and Bryce to me. “No,” she says.

I frown. A poison kiss is a very unusual gift, but it must be the work of the Divine of Malice. I stare at her, trying to puzzle out which other Divine would offer it.

“Asher?”

She shakes her head. “Not the Divine of Endings.”

Maybe I’ve been drinking too much, but now I am very confused. Until I remember how she introduced herself when we first met. Stellaria, Asher’s wife, who managed to learn to wield his magic as well as her own.

“Stellaria’s the only other option, then.”

Harlow grins wickedly. “Is it?” She glances at Bryce and Carter again. “Being a bit casual with my secrets.”

I roll my eyes. “They’re practically family.”

“Your family,” she says.

Bryce shrugs. “Listen, this game you two are playing is cute, but we should probably admit we already know about your favorite pastime.”

Harlow scowls at me. “And here I thought we were off to such a trustworthy start.”

“Are you going to tell me that your siblings don’t know what my magic is?” I ask.

She sighs. “Point taken. My magic is a gift from Harvain.”

The three of us freeze and stare at her. I would be pissed that Bryce and Carter are doing such a bad job of hiding their surprise, but I’m thrown equally off-kilter with that admission.

“Divine of Fortune,” Bryce says slowly.

I search Harlow’s face for a lie, but she’s just smirking in amusement. “Yes. I find it rather interesting myself, but they say he’s the only Divine with a sense of humor.”

It’s possible she’s lying, but I’m not sure why she’d bother. It doesn’t really matter who blessed her, but it makes me curious about how she uses it. Many people believe the Divine dole out blessings based on temperament. They want their magic to be used, so they select those who have the will and vision to use it.

But just as many people believe Divine magic is random, so perhaps she’s right and Harvain saw her as an agent of chaos.

Carter claps and grins at me. “So rare that you’re stunned silent, Hen. I think she’s a good influence on you.” He pours us all a whiskey and holds his up. “To being humbled by love.”

Harlow clinks his glass. “To being humbled by business.”

Bryce waves his hand. “I’ve got it.” He clinks their glasses. “To being humbled by a beautiful woman.”

“To doing what we must,” I say, tapping my glass to each of theirs.

We all drink.

I immediately pour myself another, glancing around the bar. The fact that half the men in the room are still looking at Harlow fills me with unwanted possessiveness. I don’t want their eyes on her, even if she’s to be my wife in ceremony only. They should show some respect when I’m sitting right here. The man at the next table is looking her over with unveiled lust. I imagine smashing his glass into the side of his head.

I roll my shoulders back, trying to rid myself of the feeling. I don’t actually want her. I just don’t like other men feeling entitled to look, no matter how she might bait them.

Even Carter seems to be struggling not to steal glances at her cleavage.

I catch his eye and frown, and he gives me a look that says, I’m married, not dead.

She shifts, and the slit in her dress rises higher, revealing the top of her stockings and the ribbon stays.

Immediately, I’m back in the boarding house, kissing her soft thighs, listening to the way she moans as I drag my teeth over the pale skin. I squeeze the edge of the table.

When I meet her eyes again, she arches a brow, like she knows the exact direction of my thoughts.

I scrub a hand over my face.

“Should we fuck right now and get it over with, my feral wolf?” she asks. “I don’t want to be distracting.”

Bryce sputters, choking on his ale.

“At least she’s direct,” Carter says.

“Well, I think I’ve managed pretty well through this interrogation,” she says. “My turn to ask the questions. Why seek out a bride now? You’re not exactly young.”

“I was feeling sentimental. Just really hoping to finally settle down and find my true love,” I say.

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you. I like you better broody,” she says, crossing her leg so the slit rides higher.

The feel of her curves pressed against me is practically imprinted on my brain, and the more I try to ignore it, the more she seems delighted to wear the most scandalous dress possible to make sure I can’t. My body doesn’t seem to care how dangerous she is.

Carter’s gaze volleys between us, but Bryce’s is on anything but the slit in her dress that’s now showing a long length of pale skin at the top of her stockings.

“I put my cards on the table, Henry. Let there be no secrets between us,” she taunts.

“If my family is to stay in power at Mountain Haven, I’ll need an heir.” It’s not the full story, but it’s also not an outright lie. The best deceptions have a kernel of truth.

She kicks her lips into an exaggerated pout. “And none of your mountain women will do?”

“Our magic is limited since⁠—”

Her face lights with recognition. “Since the attack ten years ago.” She frowns, considering. “Surely there must be women with gifts—and even so, there’s no saying for sure that marrying a blessed woman will get you a blessed child. The Divine do as they please.”

“There are few magical women left at Mountain Haven.” Lie. “And anyway, any children will need to visit the well to claim their magical gifts.” Lie.

She hums in amusement. “Do you lie to all the girls, or is that honor reserved for your betrothed?”

I frown. “It’s not a lie.”

“Perhaps not all of it, but some part of it is.”

“How do you know?” I sound so petulant, and she looks delighted.

“Maybe if you’re exceptionally good, I’ll tell you,” she says. “Or perhaps I’ll keep it to myself. Every woman deserves a few secrets.”

This is bad. If Harlow truly knows when I’m lying, my job just got so much harder.

There’s too much at stake and I’m running out of time to get all of the information I need out of her. The Drained are becoming more powerful and more plentiful by the day. I know city people think we’re wild and reckless, but Mountain Haven is still standing by sheer force of will and meticulous structure.

Harlow doesn’t understand what’s at stake—how rare my mother’s magic is. That’s a good sign, because if her parents knew, they would have told her. The less the Carrenwells know about my family and how we survived the attack ten years ago, the better. If they knew, they would surely try to find a way to use my mother for their own agenda.

A sharp whistle from behind the bar draws Harlow’s attention. The bartender salutes. Harlow jumps to her feet.

“Well, gentlemen, this has been a lovely chat, but I’m afraid I need to get home.” She makes to walk by me, but I grab her wrist.

I can’t let her go yet. There’s more to unravel with this rebellion, and I want to know everything she knows about it.

“Leaving so soon, lovely?” I taunt.

“I’m afraid it’s a necessity. Unless you want my brother to discover me here plotting with you.”

“Kellan?”

She nods, yanking her wrist away. “City guard will be here in less than two minutes, so I need to get out the back door now and head home—where he thinks I am.”

“You’ve been drinking quite a lot. At least let me walk you⁠—”

Harlow is already across the bar, heads turning as she covers up that sinful dress with her cloak, and she’s swallowed into the shadowed hallway at the back of the bar.

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