Текст книги "The poison daughter"

Автор книги: Sheila Masterson

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 48 страниц)

I flinch as he flops onto the floor beside me and rolls onto his back, rocking from side to side, like a puppy. A startled laugh rushes out of me, but I’m still too afraid to do more than talk.

“Really, Ky? What a fierce protector! Showing a stranger your belly,” Henry grumbles behind me.

The wolf rolls onto its stomach and looks at me. Its eyes are bright with intelligence as it stares me down and then glances at Henry.

“I suppose I wasn’t so far off with your nickname,” I say.

Henry rolls his eyes. “I should get you back upstairs. The feast festivities will start at sundown and you should be tucked away in your room by then.”

“Are you going?”

He smirks. “Of course. I’m heir of Mountain Haven.”

I glance at the wolf, slowly pushing up to my feet.

“Why? Does that make you jealous? I’m happy to escort you, but I thought we’d ease you into our lifestyle. Unless you’re feeling up for it. You are going to be Mrs. Feral Wolf, after all.”

I glare at him, but he just laughs and presses a hand to my back to lead me to our room. I look over my shoulder at the statues.

“We’ll come back and see the rest soon, but I figured you’d want to clean off the rabbit blood,” Henry says.

I let him lead me upstairs and leave me in our room with the promise that I’ll stay put, knowing I have no intention of missing an opportunity to snoop.

OceanofPDF.com

16HENRY

Kyrin trots along beside me as I stalk down the long corridor to my parents’ private sitting room. It’s early evening, an hour until moonrise and the start of the hunt, but it’s so dark already. It’s a reminder that we’re just weeks from the Dark Star Festival and the coldest part of the winter.

“Way to be a fearsome beast, Ky,” I tease. “You really put the fear of the Divine into her.”

The wolf chuffs as if to say he thought the same of me.

“It’s my job to get her to open up. You’re supposed to be the cagey one.”

We take the last turn in the hallway and the guards posted outside my parents’ room come into view.

Kyrin comes to a stop outside the ornate sitting room door and lies down to wait beside the guards.

The guard to the right nods. “They’re waiting for you.”

I let myself into the room and find my parents seated in plush chairs across from the fire. My mother’s face lights up when she sees me, the well-worn crease in her brow relaxing.

“Have a seat, Henry. I had tea brought up. I know you were out and about and it will help you shake off the chill,” she says.

This kind of doting makes her feel useful, but I wish she would relax from time to time. If she’s not careful, she’s going to worry herself into an early grave. Holly’s death cost all of us a lot, but my mother is an integral piece of the puzzle that has kept us in power and kept the fort together after the attack. In her own grief, she pulled us all back from the brink, and she’s helped to steady tempers in the ten years since.

But I see how the burden has robbed her of vitality. Her appearance is impeccable—her dark hair in a neat twist, her dress immaculate with not a wrinkle in sight. But in the lines growing deeper around her eyes, I see how much she’s paid to ensure that I will be heir. Not out of some hunger for power, but out of a desire to be a steady hand that curbs the baser instincts of our people. If the wrong person were to rise to power here, the fort could very easily be plunged into chaos again.

I sit down in the chair across from them and pour myself tea.

“So?” my father asks.

I take a long sip, trying to decide what to say. “She’s very curious. She was casing the armory like she was planning a grand offensive on the Drained.”

My father grimaces. “Yes, it was an interesting choice beginning your tour there.”

“I thought it would lull her into a sense of security,” I say. “She’s certain we have something dreadful planned for her. I can’t expect her to open up unless she feels like she has nothing to fear. I thought this would be an effective way to make her feel at home.”

My mother wrings her hands. “We have held our people off this long with the promise of blood. They are expecting results, and without context, it looks like we’re welcoming the Carrenwells back into our home. The clock has started now, and your father and I don’t know how much time you’ll have before their frustration boils over into something violent.”

“I know, Mom. Don’t worry.”

My mother hums, her eyes boring into me. “She’s smart. I can tell. You can see it in her eyes.”

I know what she means. Harlow has a look about her—a hunger that I find startlingly familiar and appealing.

“Practiced with a blade, too,” my father says. “How did she manage to hold her own in the woods against that horde?”

“She can see them coming,” I say.

My father’s brows shoot up. “Even in the blood mist?”

I nod. “She closes her eyes and she says they’re like blank spots—black-hole auras. She directed me which way they were coming from and she waited until the last minute to open her eyes and fight.”

“How much training do you think she’s had?” my mother asks.

“A lot. She was unpracticed, but her instincts were good and she was fairly calm during the attack. If she hadn’t been, we would have been swarmed.”

My father rubs his chin. “Curious.”

“Have you learned anything of value?”

I hesitate. What she hinted at—killing to right wrongs in her community—makes sense, but I also can’t exactly explain to my parents about her murderous hobby without explaining how I know about it in the first place. They’re too good at picking up my lies to fall for one now. I also don’t completely understand her motivation for doing it or how she selects her victims to answer their questions.

“She’s very guarded, but I think I can get her to open up a bit as she settles in more,” I say.

My father nods curtly. “Good. Will you be joining hunt night?”

“Of course,” I say.

“And Harlow knows to stay in her room?” my mother asks. “It would be quite a culture shock for her on her first night here.”

“Yes. I’ll make sure of it.” I know immediately that my tone is too strained for that to be believable.

My parents look at each other and some silent conversation passes between them.

Finally, my father turns to me. “That woman is smart. Don’t let her figure out too much too soon. Carrenwells are crafty. Harlow didn’t grow up in that house without picking up some of their tricks.”

If he only knew how many. “I have it under control.”

He grips the arms of his chair and sits up straighter. “You think I didn’t think the same? That I didn’t see that family and all their children and their fierce commitment to protecting the city? That I didn’t look into Harrick’s face while he lied through his Divine-damned teeth?”

My mother clicks her tongue, presses a palm to her chest, and bows her head in apology for my father’s profanity. She has always been more devout than all of us. Perhaps it’s her blessing from Asher, or the way she drew and drew on the well of her magic just after the attack and it somehow never went dry. I wasn’t there to see the miracle, only the aftermath, but perhaps if I had seen it, I would be a believer too.

I run a hand over my jaw and look at my father. “I haven’t lost focus and I don’t need to be reminded daily. It’s under control. I’ll leave you two to get ready for the hunt ceremony.”

My father offers a stern nod, and I take my dismissal before they can chide me any more.

Kyrin perks up when I step into the hall. He springs to his feet and is immediately at my side as I walk down the hall toward the back staircase. I pause in front of my bedroom door and listen. The crackle of the fire is punctuated by the soft patter of Harlow’s slippers on the floor. I put the key in the door as quietly as possible, waiting until a strong wind rattles the hall windows to cover the click of the lock.

I turn toward the back stairs and pause at the top.

“You can’t come tonight, Ky. And no going into the hunt grounds. Keep an eye on Harlow instead.”

He lets out a huff of what I can only assume is indignation at being assigned guard duty, but he turns and trots back toward my room.

I don’t go out the front door because I don’t want to be stopped and asked if I’m attending tonight’s hunt. I want to go and have a drink and see my friends for one blessed moment of peace before my life descends into total chaos over the next few weeks.

I sneak out the back entrance meant for house staff. The moment I step outside, a cold breeze nearly rips the door from my hand. That wind should make the hunt interesting. Wind always changes the way sound and scent travel, and it makes for an entertaining night.

I cut down the drive toward the busier part of the top level of the fort.

The streets are buzzing with people. Most of them are just finishing their last few errands before the hunt, but there are nervous young women in white dresses giggling as they walk toward the ceremony. A few off-duty guards wander down the streets behind them, but most of those participating in the games are out for a drink with friends before the reveling begins.

The lights of the bar beckon to me as I turn down a long, dark lane. The heavy metal sign groans as the wind kicks up and the light catches on the bright red lettering.

The Stone Guard, named in honor of the sturdy walls that protected us from the Drained for years, is in the sixth level of the fort, closest to my family home and the hunt grounds. It’s our favorite bar, the most popular haunt for huntsmen, which makes for good people-watching and information-gathering. But usually we end up here because it’s where Carter’s wife, Naima, works.

The swelling of conversations, music, and laughter hits me before I even step inside and crescendos as I pull the heavy wooden door open. The bar is warm, all the wooden tables adorned with glowing sunstones that cast golden light on the drab walls.

Two drummers and a fiddler sit at the front of the bar, playing a lively tune that keeps picking up speed. Couples on the dance floor struggle to keep pace as they move through a series of complicated footwork.

On one side of the room, a long wooden table is piled with fresh breads, preserves, and the picked-over bones of several roasted chickens. Feast nights are a sort of community potluck where the price of entry is food for the community table. It’s meant to honor Kennymyra’s generosity and celebrate the pleasure of excess.

I push my way through the drunken crowd and find Carter and Bryce toward the back of the bar.

“I knew Carter would be here, but I’m surprised to see you, Bryce. It’s not like you to spend so little time primping for a feast night,” I say.

Bryce grins. “Stop acting like I don’t look great. Plus, I like to wait until the last minute. It takes the new prey a little longer to work up the nerve, and the newbies are more fun.”

Carter shakes his head. “Only because no one else will have you.”

Bryce scoffs and tosses his hair. “Don’t be jealous. Just because you’ve settled on one pussy for the rest of your life doesn’t mean the rest of us have to.” He winces as he meets my eye. “No offense, Hen.”

“Who says there will only be one?” I ask.

Carter shakes his head and takes a gulp of his ale. “The murderous look in your wife-to-be’s eyes, for one.”

“Yes, but that’s part of the fun with a woman like that,” Bryce says. “The danger.”

Carter shakes his head. “Nothing about that sounds fun.”

Bryce flashes a sharp smile. “That’s only because you’ve never fucked a woman who’d like to kill you.”

“I worry about you,” Carter says.

Bryce shrugs. “What can I say? I have a type.”

It’s good to have a moment with them before I step out and am expected to be heir. The pressure to be impeccable is constant out there, but in here, Carter and Bryce still treat me the same as they always have—perhaps even a bit more like family. We all barely survived the attack. In the aftermath we became even closer, connected by the same unspeakable horrors.

I take a long swig of whiskey and set the glass down. I need to keep my head tonight.

Carter’s assessing gaze bores into me. “You good? It’s been a while.”

I glare at him. “You suggesting I can’t handle myself?”

“I’m suggesting you’re a bit distracted.”

I frown. “By what?”

“By your pretty fiancée, though I think it’s more than her beauty that has you ruffled.”

I cross my arms. It felt wrong to tell my parents what I noticed, not out of some sense of loyalty to her but more out of not knowing what to make of it. But Bryce and Carter are different. They’ve survived the same crucible, been forged by the same fires.

“What happened in the woods?” Carter asks.

“She was afraid, but also—” I swirl the liquid in my glass.

“But also…” Bryce prompts.

I glance around the bar, but no one is paying us any mind. “But she stayed focused and precise. The shock didn’t hit her until we were out of harm’s way.”

Carter’s brows shoot up. “So your city girl has seen some things?”

I nod. “I suspect she has. Back in Lunameade, her father sliced her arm to have me prove my ability and she didn’t so much as flinch—and that was not a scratch. Then she was wounded in the fight in the woods—claws in her shoulder, a broken wrist—and said nothing.” I scrub a hand over my face.

Carter’s jaw drops. “She’s got you.”

I balk. “She does not. I can tell that these things have slipped out when she didn’t mean them to.”

Carter leans forward, his elbows resting on the table. “So you’re telling me this woman who casually fought off the Drained, who tried to murder you twice already, who curates an appearance designed to entice and trick men, has accidentally let things slip to you?”

When he puts it like that, I doubt myself, but I know what I saw on her face, what I felt from her in those moments.

“He’s fucked.” Bryce laughs and pours some more whiskey into my glass.

I rub the back of my neck. “I’m fine. Nothing has changed. I just think there’s more to uncover with her.”

Bryce waggles his eyebrows. “Sure is. Just a few more days until you get to uncover all of her.”

I shake my head. “You better stand at the back of the crowd at the wedding ritual. I’m not listening to you make cracks about my wife’s tits for the rest of my life.”

Bryce’s grin widens. “I make no promises.”

Naima wanders over to our booth with a tray in her hand. “Making no promises is a wise choice for you. I’ve heard more than enough about how you’re going to someday pay your tab.”

“Naima, you wound me.” Bryce clutches at his chest. “You know I’m good for it.”

A smile lights in her eyes as she gathers our empty glasses on her tray and kisses Carter on the cheek. “I know you’re good for nothing but trouble. Keep an eye on my love tonight. You know how those brutes can be when someone is breaking up their fun.”

Since Naima and Carter are in a monogamous relationship, Carter often opts to police hunt night and make sure that everyone is abiding by the rules that keep participants safe. Most people have no issue following them to the letter, fearing Kennymyra’s wrath if they violate a sacred ritual. But sometimes people get lost in the frenzy and get especially aggressive and territorial. Being part of the safety patrol can be a rough job.

“What about you, Hen? Are you on guard duty, or will you be indulging?” Naima asks, absently running her fingers over the nape of Carter’s neck.

“Last chance before I’m a married man—not to mention I’ve been away too long to skip it,” I say.

Naima smiles warmly, her light brown eyes bright with mischief. “Carter tells me your wife is feisty. I think she’ll be good for you.”

“It’s not that kind of match. She’s just a part of my job,” I say.

Naima smirks. “We’ll see if you’re singing the same tune after you take her to bed.”

She and Carter have overly romantic notions, but what they have is rare.

Everyone who almost died ten years ago in the attack lost the ability to see color—the world shifting to monochrome in the gasp of a breath. Carter is one of the rare few who had his full color vision restored. He speaks about it like a holy experience—as if the moment he realized he was in love with Naima was the moment he was reborn, and the color returning was just a symptom of a new life beginning.

It’s nauseating.

In recent years in Mountain Haven relationships, waiting for color to appear has become a point of tension. I can’t be bothered to succumb to the hopeless notion, nor do I aspire to.

For ten years, I’ve had one plan: rebuild and revenge. I have been careful not to form attachments with anyone. The thousands of us left here who survived the attack split into two directions. Some survivors sought out the comfort of partnership and family—eager to put their second chances to use. The rest, like me, turned away from that entirely.

Watching Carter pine for his wife while we were away was enough to put me off it even more.

Outside, a bell rings, and the bar quiets for a moment to hear the pattern. But it’s just that one chime, the warning that the hunt will start soon.

“Shall we?” Bryce says, nodding toward the door.

I stand and follow him toward the exit. Carter lags behind, kisses his wife, and swats her ass as she walks away.

He struts up beside us with a grin. The cold air steals the breath from my lungs as soon as we step outside, but I know the chill will be short-lived. Once the hunt starts, my blood will be burning.

I’m desperate for this hunt. It would be easier to blame my eagerness on my time away, but much as I hate to admit it, it’s just as likely that it’s the way Harlow has been taunting me. Maybe it’s just Harlow in general, with her vicious smile, her sinful body, the heady floral scent of her skin, and the heated look in her eyes when I sucked her finger earlier.

There are plenty of things that are annoying about being heir, but I can safely say I’m going to thoroughly enjoy fucking Harlow Carrenwell in every sense of the word.

Carter and Bryce lead the way, and I scrub a hand over my face as we walk. I need to stop fantasizing about that. Tonight is about our people and playing the part of the heir.

By the time we reach the edge of the ruins where a statue to Kennymyra still stands, a crowd has gathered. Torches burn around the circle of the shrine. My parents stand in front of the large marble statue, their cloaks embroidered with Kennymyra’s sigil. I know the cloaks are red because it’s the color that honors Kennymyra, but to me, they just look charcoal.

The prey group of men and women fuss with their white cloaks, making them look like nervous ghosts milling about the entrance to the hunt grounds. The white is so that even those of us who can’t see color will be able to tell who is participating in the hunt.

On the other side of the circle, the hunters are decked out in dark colors, their hungry gazes assessing the options in front of them. I join them, Bryce falling into place beside me. Carter hangs back toward the edge of the circle in his green guard cloak.

I scan the crowd until I find my target. I’d know those dark eyes and the curve of that sensuous mouth anywhere. Miriam.

My blood heats. She’s a good twenty feet away, but a breeze stirs her hair, and her scent hits me all at once, sage and floral and so familiar. Desire rushes through me. Perhaps my friends were right. I do deserve some fun. I was just going to catch Miriam and steal her away to fool around for old times’ sake. I wasn’t going to fuck her, but Harlow’s disdain is obvious and she’s made it clear she could not care less who I fuck.

What’s between Miriam and me is purely transactional. I can think of no better way to chase away the memory of how Harlow’s body felt arched against mine. This will set me straight.

Miriam winks, pulls her braid over her shoulder, and tightens the ribbon that fastens the end of it.

“One last hurrah?” Bryce whispers. “You look like you need it.”

I grin. “Can’t hurt to indulge this once.”

Bryce claps a hand on my back. “Fucking finally. You’ve been so serious of late. Happy to see the old friend Hen is back.”

I swat his hand away. “I’ve been here all along. Now, who will you be chasing this evening?”

He nods to a curvy woman who is smiling shyly at him. She lifts her hand to tuck her hair behind her ear and flashes the ribbon around her wrist. “She looks fun and she’s new. I love the first-timers.”

The restlessness of the crowd is a hum in my bones. I just want to go.

My father lifts his hands and a hush comes over the crowd. “All participants must follow the rules. The word Breach brings all games to an end immediately,” he says, his stern gaze passing over the crowd. “Now be safe and have fun.” He lifts his arms so they frame the statue behind him. “We dedicate this hunt to Kennymyra.”

A guard on the edge of the forest holds up a bell. “All prey get a five-minute head start.”

He rings the bell, and the participants in white dash into the trees, disappearing like specters into the darkness.

The fiddlers start playing loud music and the prey disappear into the hunt grounds. With a mere couple of miles between us and the mountain face, there are only so many places they can go inside this small area within the fort walls.

These few minutes of anticipation are my favorite part. So much about our lives here is regimented and controlled. We rely on order above all. These nights are when we can be as wild as we want, so long as we have the consent of our partner, and sometimes it’s a relief to not have to hide the impulse to be monstrous, especially after how much I’ve been leashing it with Harlow here.

The image of her running through the trees in a white dress flashes in my mind unbidden. I saw the way her pupils dilated when I mentioned the hunt. She was curious. I hate to admit that I’m just as curious about how she’d react.

The guards walk through the crowd, reminding us of the rules as the song changes over.

I can practically feel the hum of excitement in the air as hunters tip their heads back, scenting the air. It’s a gift bestowed on many of us thanks to a blessing bestowed by Elvodeen to the Davilian family. Those of us who hunt in the Drained Wood need it to know when the blood mist is coming and that enhanced sense of smell saves lives.

I can smell Miriam still. I’m not sure if she just didn’t run that far or if my senses are so heightened because I’m desperate for this, but I also don’t care. I just hope she’s ready for me.

Beside me, Bryce stretches and rolls his shoulders to ready himself. “You going to Miriam?”

I nod.

The fiddle music swells, and I scan the crowd. Everyone is caught up in the revel except Stefan Laurence. His narrowed eyes are fixed on me.

Bryce bends toward me. “You think he’s pissed about Seth?”

I shake my head. “Doubtful. That was a test. He was seeing how I handled defending a Carrenwell against one of our people. If he wanted to hurt her, he could have waited for her to be alone and he would have sent someone more competent with stronger magic. They don’t know what Harlow can do, though he definitely wasn’t expecting her to be able to fight.”

“So he wants you to look bad,” Bryce said.

I glare at Stefan as he holds up a flask in a mock toast. He has been a thorn in my side since we both survived our guard test in the same culling season. His family is beloved in Mountain Haven, and they have been gaining influence since the attack ten years ago. Fortunately, our rebuilding efforts haven’t gone unnoticed, and the people of the fort are superstitious, so they are wary of changing leadership after my family gave up so much to help them survive the attack.

Stefan knows he can’t outright challenge me, but it’s smart of him to chip away at my reputation for loyalty at a time when it will already be most in question for our people.

Only me, my parents, and my two best friends know the truth of this marriage arrangement. In order to keep it a secret, we had to keep it from everyone, and we knew there would be anger and frustration from our people. But these few weeks of deceit will provide them with a lifetime of safety. Easier to beg forgiveness once we’ve brought the Carrenwell family down.

Then, the Laurences will be well and truly dealt with.

Eyeing the rest of the group, I estimate only about twenty hunters heading out tonight. More prey than predators, which means some might go more than one round, or there might be some disappointed prey.

Bryce punches my arm. “Be careful out there. He looks like he’s going to be a problem.”

“One problem at a time. I need this hunt so I can think straight.”

Bryce grins and rolls his shoulder out. “Happy hunting.”

Across the boisterous crowd, a huntsman lifts the bell and rings it.

The hunt is on.

OceanofPDF.com