Текст книги "The poison daughter"

Автор книги: Sheila Masterson

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 23 (всего у книги 48 страниц)

28HARLOW

The large, dark wood double doors to the art gallery stretch all the way to the ceiling. They’re much plainer than the doors in my family’s manor—than those in all of the great houses in Lunameade.

It makes sense. The fort is set with several fallback strongholds, just like the city, but the threat of a Drained attack here is ever-present. They don’t need pretty doors. They need something that will hold against an onslaught of beasts.

Even though I know Gaven has made himself scarce so that we will eventually be able to make eye contact again, I keep expecting to see him there like a grumpy shadow. Instead, Henry is standing behind me, waiting to show off the gallery. He didn’t comment on the fact that my bodyguard hasn’t made an appearance this morning, and I hope he will assume that he’s taking time off, instead of the more likely scenario that he’s discreetly snooping around the house. Hopefully, he’s busying himself figuring out why we haven’t received any correspondence from my parents yet.

My body buzzes with restless energy. I want fresh air and the burn in my legs from a hard run, not a walk through a stuffy art gallery.

I reach for the handle to the gallery doors, but Henry snatches my hand back.

“Hold up.” He gestures to the enchanted lock next to the door.

It’s just like the one in the armory. I’m not a thief, but I’m curious what type of art requires a locked door. Even if someone here could steal it, it’s not as if they could sell it.

“Always with the blood,” I say. “Can I do it now?”

“I wouldn’t be a very doting husband if I let you—but yes. Now that we’re married, you can unlock this door.” He presses his finger to the sharp point of the lock, and a moment later, the bolt clicks. “Art takes blood.”

I wrinkle my nose, but I tuck away this new knowledge. Perhaps this explains why he won’t let me out of his sight. If I can unlock any door in the fort now, there’s no telling what secrets I could uncover, and the sooner I do, the sooner I can go home and get Aidia out.

“I mean it metaphorically, Harlow. Now, if you’ll indulge me.” He holds up a blindfold.

“You must be joking.”

He sighs. “Come on, Harlow. Don’t fight me. You’ll just turn me on.”

It’s against everything in me to just give in, but I’m walking a delicate line. I need him to think he can get to me. If I give in too easily, he won’t believe he’s won me over, but if I fight him too hard, he will never trust me.

I nod, and he ties the silk blindfold around my eyes, blotting out the world. He curls an arm around my waist and pulls me flush against his side. He smells like juniper and fresh snow, and I don’t hate it.

The door creaks open and Henry ushers me inside. He pulls the door closed, and a second later, the lock clicks into place.

Even with the blindfold and my eyes closed, I can see his aura grow wider as he steps into the space. It pulses lightly, probably along with his heartbeat.

He nudges me forward, and I awkwardly let him lead me into the room. I can tell by the echo of his footsteps that the floor is some kind of stone and the ceilings must be high.

I wonder if I’m about to see more haunting sculptures breaking free of marble like out in the hallway, or if there is more than one artist in their family line.

“I don’t like this sensory deprivation,” I whisper. “I don’t know if it’s supposed to be sexy, but I’m not a fan of stumbling around like an idiot.”

Henry hushes me, his breath ghosting over the back of my neck as he pulls me to a stop and turns me to the right.

His body is warm and solid, and I can’t stop thinking about how that body was naked and on top of me last night. The last thing I want to think about is the way my thighs wouldn’t stop shaking, or the way he knew he could get to me if he was gentle.

It’s unnerving to be known by your enemy. I’m supposed to be the one working him. Luring men is what I do.

“Are you ready?” Henry whispers into the shell of my ear.

I nod.

He removes the blindfold with deft fingers, and I blink, trying to get my eyes to adjust.

Gray sunlight pours in from skylights, forming perfect rectangles on the white marble floor. The wall in front of us is also white and adorned with three large paintings. I walk toward the square one on the far left. The gilded frame looks old and a bit worn by time, or perhaps the hard trip through the mountains or Drained Wood.

I take a step forward, focusing on what looks vaguely like a field of wildflowers. Then, the colors of the painting begin to move.

I squint. Surely it’s a trick of the light, but now the aquas, blues, whites, and greens are moving rapidly, blending together and forming new patterns.

“What in the Divine is that?” I rasp, my mouth suddenly dry.

It’s like no magic I’ve ever seen, and as startling as that is, I don’t want to look away. The colors morph and blend, and the texture changes from soft to something jagged.

Henry steps up behind me, his chest brushing my back. “It’s called mirror art. It shows how you’re feeling. Which looks like—” He casts a glance at the painting. “Prickly.”

The painting has indeed formed a more violent-looking pattern. The texture has shifted to something spiky as opposed to the smooth, sweeping strokes that it started with. It looks like a colorful exploding star.

The impulse to run is so strong that I take a step toward the door. The last thing I need is a room full of art that will reveal to Henry everything that’s tucked safely in my heart.

Henry seems content in here. Normally, there is a controlled rigidness to his body. His movements are purposeful and swift, and when he’s at rest, he’s always preternaturally still.

As I relax, the painting starts to morph again. Henry brushes his fingers over my hip. The silk is so thin, I can feel the heat of his skin.

“Who painted them?” I ask, watching the painting shift again.

“My sister.”

I stop breathing for a second and crane my neck to look at him. “How did she make these if her magic was protection?”

Henry hesitates, but there’s pride in his eyes as he watches the paintings in front of us shift. “Holly was twice-blessed. Once by Vardek and once by Polm.”

My mouth falls open from the sheer shock. I’ve witnessed years of Divine baptisms, but never once have I seen someone blessed by more than one Divine. I know it’s possible, because my parents drilled into us to be very vigilant that we didn’t miss any more subtle blessings. But if the well here is more powerful, perhaps it bestows more frequent double blessings—ones that we have no records of.

He hums low. “Holly had an incredibly inventive mind. She understood how to blend her magics in very creative ways. The way she described it was that she wanted to turn her art into protection, and what could protect my family better than having art around the house that would let us know if our allies were still our allies? That would give us insights into how they are feeling. She channeled the gift of reading emotions—the base of manipulation magic—into each piece so that it would display a feeling.”

I’m stunned. My magic has always been a burden, and while I found a way to transform it into something useful, I’ve never been able to imagine uses beyond just varying the different types of poisons based on plants I learned about.

This art is brilliant not just in its practicality, but in the tremendous skill and creativity that it requires to learn to channel the Divine’s gifts in a new way. Most blessed by Polm think only about how to use it to manipulate other people, but that manipulation comes from a deep understanding of someone’s emotions and how to read them. She would have had to weave half of that magic into the painting at the same time she channeled in the protection magic.

I’ve never seen anything like it.

The pride on Henry’s face is endearing. Much as I loathe him, I respect this sincerity. He loved his sister, but that love means the kind of grief that endures. That grief might be the thing that gets me killed. I need to be careful. If he brought me here, it’s because he wants a glimpse at how I’m feeling.

I watched Aidia learn to go from small glamours and appearance changes to freestanding illusions as large as changing the entire facade of our family estate. It’s difficult to learn to use that skill in new ways—only the most Divine-blessed can do it—and that was just for one type of blessing.

Looking at Holly Havenwood’s art leaves me breathless.

“It interprets all feelings?” I ask.

“They all show different aspects of a person. This one is the strongest emotion at the moment.” He nudges me to the right, in front of a narrow rectangular piece. “This one shows desires.”

The painting looks vaguely like a sunset over the mountains. It has a pulsing energy that brushes against my skin when I step closer. A beat thrums through me, and suddenly I feel like I’m back in the ceremony room, Henry looming over me, the ache of pleasure beating through my blood and⁠—

I step back, out of reach of the painting. All the colors have bled away from the center, leaving a black abyss and a set of dark blue eyes looking back at me. Henry’s eyes.

“Bleeding woods,” I grumble.

Henry chuckles in my ear. “Glad to know I made enough of an impression that you associate me with desire, lovely.”

If I react, it will just give him more satisfaction, so I hold perfectly still, trying to will my desire into anything else.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

His question snaps me back to the present moment.

I glance over my shoulder at him. He’s too close. This intimacy isn’t a performance like last night. That was meant to convince everyone else. This performance is meant to convince me, but I’m not that easy.

“I told you, everything you did was fine. I’m a little sore, but not in a bad way.”

His gaze heats, and he licks his lips. “I healed all of your bruises while you slept.” He slides his hand up higher so his knuckles brush the underside of my breast. “I told you that you’d still feel me today, but I meant how is your head?”

Warmth creeps through my blood, but I refuse to let him ruffle me. “It’s fine.”

“No pain since the well?” he asks.

“No pain.” It’s only been a day, but I’m as afraid to hope that it worked as I am of what it means if it didn’t. If the well here heals, but the one at home doesn’t, I’m no closer to figuring out why.

The idea of having pain-free days—of never worrying about the spells that come on with no warning and take me out for days, of never having to worry about hiding my weakness from the world—is hard to fathom. I’m too afraid to want it—too terrified to lose again to let myself truly believe it’s possible.

Still, some small, disobedient part of me refuses to let hope die. Last night was intense, and the fact that I went through all of that after just getting over a headache seems like a good sign.

I turn back to face the art and walk to the last painting. The base painting looks like a stone wall marked with a bright white scar. It actually looks a bit like the fort wall, but the breach happened the night Holly died, so it must be something else. That, or Henry is thinking about the breach—which makes sense since this is his sister’s art.

“What does it do?” I ask.

There’s a static in the air around it. The prickly feeling dances over my skin, and I close my eyes.

Henry steps up behind me, his warmth pressing to my back as whatever magic is in the painting presses against my front. I lean back into him ever so slightly. I breathe deeply, and it doesn’t even bother me that I’m breathing in the cold-forest scent of him. A strange calm washes over me. It reminds me of the peace I feel when I’m lying in bed with Aidia and she’s smiling.

When I blink my eyes open, the painting has morphed. There’s a bright red blotch at the middle and smaller spray coming out from the center. It looks like a blood stain.

I stare at it, not even daring to breathe. A flash of memory rises in my mind unbidden—a flash of blood and pain and gasping, sobbing tears.

I bolt. I don’t even think about Henry’s warning never to run from him until I throw open the gallery door. “I’m not running.” My voice is a hoarse rasp.

He’s already behind me. “I know. That’s everyone’s least favorite. It’s hard to look at,” he says softly. “It’s called the heart mirror. It’s meant to show the hidden parts of one’s heart.”

He reaches a hand out to touch my shoulder, but seems to think better of it at the last second.

Henry did this on purpose. He wanted to see what would happen. I shouldn’t have trusted that this was a magnanimous gesture. He always has an angle.

I glance around the hall for anything to distract from my loss of composure. A half-finished painting directly across from the gallery door catches my eye. I walk toward it. The left side of the painting is a swirl of dark blues and purples, dappled with yellow. It looks like the night sky here in the fort—or half of it, at least. In the city, there’s so much light from homes and lanterns that it’s hard to see the stars, but here in the mountains, the fort is so dark at night, the sky is lit up with a brilliant array of stars.

Seeing something so beautiful unfinished makes me feel irrationally sad. It’s not like I knew her, but she was so young and she was just trying to protect her brother.

“This one was in progress when the fort fell,” Henry says.

A small placard below the art reads: In honor of the lost and the Returned from the breach.

“I know who the fallen are, but who are the Returned?” As soon as I ask the question, it hits me.

“Those of us who were called back by my mother.”

I nod. I made everything worse. I want to run. I feel disoriented, like I’m grieving something I didn’t live through and people I don’t know, and my skin is crawling with the desire to run.

“I should have warned you about the heart mirror,” he says softly. “I should have warned you.”

I try not to think of the bloody painting, but it rises in my mind.

Henry ushers me over the threshold and down the hall. “Come. I have a wedding present for you.”

Eyeing him warily, I smirk. “Something more than your eternal distrust and loathing? My wolf, you’re truly too generous.”

OceanofPDF.com

29HENRY

Harlow doesn’t even pretend to like her wedding present. She just stares at the small room with her nose wrinkled, like I’ve gifted her a shoebox full of rats.

“It’s a—closet?” Harlow says.

In her defense, it’s not much to look at. Dark gray walls that soak up the meager light from a sunstone atop a simple wood table. The only other furniture is a velvet reading chair directly across from the doorway we’re standing in.

She purses her lips. “The chair is nice.”

I shake my head. “This room was blessed by Holly with unique and powerful protection magic. It’s a safe room, and its protection can be transferred to the person of my choosing. I’ve made it so that you are the only one who can get into it.”

She eyes the space with the kind of skepticism that suggests she’d never trust any space to be safe. Her mouth twitches in a hint of a smile. “I noticed the door the other day. I was wondering what was in here.”

“I bet you were.” A locked door inside my bedroom closet would have been impossible for her to ignore. I knew she’d poke around the first chance she had.

Blood drips from her finger onto the floor. I snatch her wrist and curl my hand around the wound. The cut from the lock on the door isn’t deep. It only takes a moment before it’s healed. She looks at me expectantly until I pull out a handkerchief and wipe her skin clean.

“If this is something she could do, why not do the entire house—the entire fort, for that matter?” Harlow asks.

It’s a clever question. Truthfully, Holly did protect the front gate as well as the central gates of each level of the fort.

“It took her a tremendous amount of magic just to protect this small room. There are a few other spaces in the fort she protected this way. She would have done more if she’d had the time, but as you know, anyone with holy fire spends a good deal of their magic on that.”

She hums in agreement, then places a hand on my back. “Thank you.”

She sounds so sincere that my guard is immediately up.

She shoves me toward the door. I slam into the invisible magic boundary, like I’ve been shoved into a brick wall. My teeth sink into my lip.

When I turn to face her, she grins and reaches up to swipe her thumb over the wetness there.

Her hand comes away from my mouth bloody, and she holds my gaze as she licks the stain from her finger. The look in her eyes is a dare, same as the one I saw in them yesterday during communion. She doesn’t understand that the more she shows me her claws, the more I want to feel them.

“Just testing for a lie,” she says, bumping my shoulder as she steps across the threshold into the one place in Mountain Haven where I can’t follow her.

The silk clings to her ass as she adds an extra sway to her hips. The draping in the back dips low enough to show off the lace bustier she’s wearing beneath. The dress is sinful. It was stupid of me to make her wear it.

She lowers herself into the chair, and I don’t miss the way she sits gingerly.

“A bit sore, wife?”

She leans back, her knees parting, and her lips tug into a wicked smile. “That would please you, wouldn’t it? To know you’ve left me aching.”

Deep animal satisfaction surges through me.

Her fingers scrunch the silk until the slit over her right thigh is high enough for me to see the little ribbon stays attaching her thigh-highs to the lingerie I picked for her. I close my eyes for a moment, imagining the red against her pale skin. When I blink my eyes open, her hand has migrated higher, moving lazily under the thin silk.

“What are you⁠—”

“Enjoying my new private space, husband.” She sighs and pushes her lips into a pout. “Are you sure you don’t want to help?”

This is the real test. She didn’t believe me crashing into the magical boundary, so now she’s trying to push me. I loathe that it’s working.

Harlow places her heels on opposite arms of the chair and pulls her undergarments to the side, baring herself to me obscenely. My mouth goes dry as I watch two of her slick fingers circle her clit and then push inside her pussy.

My cursed sharper senses call up the taste of her and the feel of her soft skin effortlessly.

She moans. She’s throwing down a challenge, and I want to punish her so badly. Last night was a soft thing. Sitting gingerly isn’t enough. I want to slap her fine ass and fuck her until she’s too sore to sit for a week.

I pace the closet a few times and then press my hands against the doorframe. “Come here,” I snap.

“Make me.”

I freeze. But her face is fixed in defiance. She’s just playing games to see if I can get to her. It’s tempting to try to find some way around the boundary, but there’s only one I know of, and it would require manipulation magic.

I look around the closet for anything that might lure her out, and my gaze falls on the box wrapped in a large ribbon. The other part of her wedding gift.

“We have toys, you know? Books to get you in the mood as well.”

She pauses her movement. “Toys?” The interest in her eyes is a dangerous thing.

“Yes, as is customary for any new Mountain Haven wife, I have another gift for you if you come out.”

She cocks her head skeptically. “But I’m so enjoying this gift right now, and this seems like a trick to get me out of this room.”

“No tricks. The toys really exist. As do the books. I could read one to you if you’d like.”

“Your voice is grating. I’m much more likely to come if you’re silent,” Harlow taunts.

“That wasn’t the case last night.”

She looks away but continues to move her hand between her thighs. I want to tie those hands to my headboard and make her pay for teasing me. I want her screaming and writhing and coming, and I⁠—

I stalk away, rolling out my shoulders to try to rid myself of the restless desire pounding through me. Divine-dammit. The blessing from Kennymyra is going to be the death of me. I’m practically panting for Harlow, and she’s going to hide in her safe room forever. This was supposed to make her feel some sense of security, but I clearly miscalculated.

I grab the gift box, yank the large satin ribbon free, and walk back to stand in front of the doorway. I tilt the box so she can see what’s inside it.

She stops her ministrations immediately, her gaze fixed on the toys. I wonder if she’s ever used something like this. They’re a bit prudish for such things in the city, but Harlow has shown an interest and some knowledge of our rituals.

I run my fingers over the thick, bumpy glass shafts. “These go inside you.” I lift the silk ties. “These shorter ones are used to fasten your wrists, and these longer ones for your thighs or ankles. Or I have a room with a bench I could strap you to if you are worried about silk burns on that pretty pale skin.”

She licks her lips, transfixed by the items in the box.

Watching her reactions is making me crazy. The second she leaves that room, I’m going to make her pay.

When I lift the small riding crop from the box, she flinches. It’s barely perceptible.

“I didn’t know about your preferences when I purchased this,” I said. “I thought I had you pegged as a woman who would like a little sting.”

As soon as I toss it to the side, she resumes her movements, but I know what I saw. That flinch, combined with my knowledge of her scar, fills me with infernal anger. I want to say something, but it’s going to take a lot more to get her to open up and confirm my suspicions.

That seems unlikely to happen, considering that I can’t even get her to leave this room.

She lets out a low moan. “And the book?”

“It’s handwritten stories. Some of the fort storytellers’ most requested tales.”

She licks her lips. “People request explicit stories in public?”

I grin. I have her. “They do at the Raining Star Bar. It’s the fort’s storytelling bar. So much of our history was passed down through stories told around campfires, but not all of those tales are factual. Many of them were purely for entertainment purposes. The tradition remains alive and well for lore of all kinds.”

There’s genuine curiosity in her eyes.

I shake the box lightly. “I knew you would like your gifts. Now, why don’t you come out here and I’ll make sure you enjoy them.”

Finally, she surrenders her game, and an annoying prickle of excitement sparks to life in my chest. She rises from the plush chair.

As soon as she steps over the threshold, I’m going to drag her to the bed by her hair. I’m going to do everything I would have done last night if I weren’t so focused on disarming her with gentleness.

She crosses the small space and pauses a few feet from the doorway as if she’s afraid I’ll somehow reach in and snatch her.

A wide smirk spreads over her face when she realizes I can’t. “This is a really generous present, my wolf. The perfect gift. How unfortunate that you can’t enjoy it yourself.”

She lifts the fingers that were just inside her to her mouth and sucks them clean with a look of obscene pleasure on her face.

Then, she slams the safe room door in my face.

OceanofPDF.com