Текст книги "The poison daughter"

Автор книги: Sheila Masterson

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Текущая страница: 38 (всего у книги 48 страниц)

She crosses her arms and looks away, but she says nothing.

Bells sound outside. I’m out of time to make peace with her for now.

I clear my throat. “It’s time for⁠—”

“The luncheon with the ladies of the fort,” she says. “I know. Why do you think I’m dressed like this?”

“To make me suffer.”

She hums and smiles wickedly. As she stands, Kyrin flops over onto her feet and whines.

“Hush, you,” she says, bending down to pet him. “Such a baby.”

She rises to her feet and begrudgingly takes my arm. I usher her out of the room. She stutters a step when she notices Gaven’s absence.

“Where’s your shadow?” I ask.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, my wolf?”

Snark is better than suspicion, but I sense the uneasiness in her rigid posture.

It remains that way until we get downstairs. As we approach the feast room, I see a man and a woman standing in front of the double doors. It’s not until the man pats the woman on the shoulder and turns that I realize it’s Stefan.

I hesitate, but Harlow keeps walking, a smile plastered on her face. She nods as we walk by him, ignoring his lascivious smirk.

“I told you that you’d pay in blood. Maybe now you’ll learn to keep your mouth shut,” Stefan taunts. He offers me a mock salute. “Thanks for the show, Havenwood.”

There have been so many times over the past few years when I’ve wanted to kill Stefan, but never more than at this moment.

The point of claiming is to make a public statement, but I hate that he saw her like that.

He breezes by us.

Harlow seems suddenly tense. She glances over her shoulder again, looking for Gaven.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

She glances down the hall at Stefan’s back. “We had an altercation the other night where he threatened me and Gaven almost gutted him on the spot. Stefan threatened him, of course—said he would make him bleed.”

It’s the perfect way out of the mess I’ve made. It was always my plan to blame him, but the fact that she’s already suspicious makes it even more believable.

I squeeze her arm. “I thought you sent him to snoop.”

She straightens and smiles, and I turn to see two servants rushing down the hall with trays of cakes.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” she says, nudging me forward.

As soon as we walk into the feast room, I regret telling her this was a good idea. All of the female storytellers and the women from the families who secure the fort with their magic are in attendance. The tables are covered in teapots and trays of small sandwiches and cakes, and it very much does not feel like the kind of event where Harlow would be at home.

She smiles brightly as I lead her into the room, to her place of honor beside my mother.

Before I can escape, Harlow grabs my arm and clicks her tongue.

“Running off without giving your wife a kiss?” she says with a faux pout.

She grabs my shirt and tugs me to her.

When she kisses me, all I can taste is sweet poison. My wife is trying to poison me—and I like it. I am fully entranced by her viciousness.

Then she looks at my mother. “Don’t you think he should stay and honor all of us ladies with his presence? I just can’t seem to keep my hands off him this morning.”

I read my mother’s skepticism immediately, but the ladies at the surrounding tables whistle and tap their silverware to their glasses in agreement, urging us to kiss again.

Harlow obliges them. And just like that, I’m trapped at the ladies’ luncheon along with her.

The minutes drag by as I pick at honey cakes and sip tea and try not to fall asleep from the sheer monotony of listening to so many conversations at once.

It’s a relief when Carter appears at the door, even knowing I’m going to have to engage in the best acting of my life. He waves, but I wait for Harlow to notice him.

She leans close. “It looks like Carter needs you.”

I lift my head. “I’ll be right back.”

None of the other ladies seem to notice I’m sneaking out of their party, but I feel Harlow’s gaze on my back as I step into the hallway with Carter.

“You ready for this?” he asks.

I nod. “Apparently, Stefan already did the heavy lifting for us. Harlow admitted that she was worried because Stefan threatened Gaven the other night.”

Carter pinches the bridge of his nose. “Kind of him to make it so easy on us.” He glances past me, toward Harlow. “How is she feeling this morning?”

“Vindictive. Even though she can’t stand the sight of me, she trapped me at this luncheon with her because she knew I would loathe it.”

Carter shakes his head and claps a hand on my shoulder. “Are you sure this is the time?”

Telling Harlow about Gaven during this luncheon was the plan, but that was before she found out I’m Deathless. I’m worried this is too much at once.

“It’s already been almost a full day since it happened. I don’t think we can put it off much longer without things getting messy,” I say.

Carter gives a resigned nod. “I hope you know what you’re doing. I’ll meet you outside.”

He retreats down the hallway, and I stand there for a moment, as if I need time to compose myself. Then, I turn and walk slowly across the feast room. I don’t have to pretend to dread this because between pissing her off last night and the secrets I’ve revealed this morning, I’m genuinely afraid of her reaction to this news. If she retreats from me entirely, I don’t know how I’ll make up the ground I’ve lost in time for Dark Star Festival.

Harlow looks at me expectantly as I approach.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

I nod toward the door. “Will you step outside with me?”

She frowns. “What’s going on?”

“I think we should step away and discuss it.”

Harlow is trying hard to look calm, but she has her hands clasped in a white-knuckle grip. “Henry, just tell me.”

I glance at my mother and then look back at my wife. “They found Gaven’s body in the woods behind the house. He’s dead, Harlow.”

She doesn’t say anything at first. Then she turns and whispers something to my mother, who nods and pats her shoulder.

She rises from her chair stiffly and takes my arm. I lead her out of the room and down the hall in silence. She shivers as we step out into the chilly winter morning, and her face looks especially pale in the bright sunlight. I shouldn’t have taken so much blood last night.

Carter, Bryce, and a few other hunters are waiting for us just inside the woods behind Havenwood House. It’s the very edge of the hunt grounds. I felt bad leaving Gaven there all night, but it was necessary to sell our story.

The men part, and Bryce ushers them away to give us some privacy.

Harlow stops short when she sees Gaven’s body. His eyes are shut, but his clothes are very obviously soaked in dry blood.

She stares at him for a long moment. “It’s beneath him to be mastered by some prick with an ego. I’ve seen him kill Drained like it was nothing, even without holy fire.”

I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly parched. “Stefan isn’t just mortal. He’s like me. The Deathless are faster and stronger, with better focus than the Drained.”

She lowers her gaze, and suddenly, I’m worried she’s going to cry. But when she looks up, her eyes are full of fury. “I’m going to kill him.” Her voice is low but full of certainty.

“You can’t.”

She glares at me. “I’ll not let this stand. It is one thing to try to assault and kill me. It’s another to murder my bodyguard. That is an attack on my family, and to let it stand would make me look weak.”

“I know well you can’t simply act on every impulse.”

“I’ll make it look like an accident,” she says.

“Harlow, if you do, my mother will be forced to call him back again.”

She looks at Gaven’s body. “Then have her call him back.” Her voice wavers, and my stomach sinks.

I keep my voice gentle, fighting the urge to reach for her hand. “It’s been too long. It won’t work.”

She stares at him for a few long moments, and I think of his final request. Not telling her what he said is eating at me. Divine Asher does not smile on those who ignore final wishes, but there’s no way for me to tell her what he said without implicating myself.

“We had a complicated relationship, but he did the best he could,” she says softly. “It wasn’t enough, but it wasn’t nothing.”

The guilt churns in my stomach. “He said something in passing the other night. I asked him about why he puts up with your attitude, and he said because he was sorry about something that happened six months ago.”

She goes still. “Six months ago?”

“Yes.”

She makes a soft hum of consideration. “No idea what he means.”

I press on. “I got the impression he regretted not standing up for you in a more general sense.”

Harlow is quiet for a long moment before she turns to face me. “And here I thought the two of you were forever at odds.”

“I sparred with him yesterday afternoon. It’s probably the most he’s spoken to me,” I say.

She rolls her eyes. “I’ve never met someone who talks so much during a fight. Honestly, he was never working hard enough.” She swallows hard and looks away. “We should light a pyre at dawn. Do you think your father would start it with holy fire? Gaven was particularly devout when it came to Vardek.”

“I’m sure he would.”

“I’d prefer for it to be private if that’s okay,” she says.

“Whatever you want.” In my own ears, I sound too agreeable—too guilty, but Harlow doesn’t notice, and that makes it worse.

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52HARLOW

We burn our dead at dawn to honor Divine Asher. The end of the night is just the start of a new day, and the funeral services are meant as a reminder that life and death are a divine circle, each ending forever giving way to a new start.

Many people find that thought comforting, but to me, death has always felt final. Or it did, until I met Henry.

He shifts beside me, his aura curling around me like a protective cloak. I didn’t ask for that, and I don’t need it, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. It’s been that way since the claiming. I’m not sure if it’s more a measure of his possessiveness or his guilt.

He’s expecting me to melt down, but I don’t cry. I get even.

It might take some time, but Stefan Laurence is going to die a spectacularly slow and painful death.

Philip and Evangeline stand off to one side of the pyre. Bryce and Carter stand on the other. The weight of their collective gazes presses in on me.

This is what I have always hated about funerals and what I’m dreading about Dark Star Festival. It’s hard to perform my grief when I feel nothing but the chill of a cold winter morning. I pull my cloak around me tighter.

Of course, I’m sad that Gaven is gone. He has been the steadiest presence in my life. But the sadness is more like the ache of an old injury, a thing that flares to life on cold or rainy days. I’m sure I will feel it when the reminders come, but it’s so fresh, it doesn’t fully feel real even as I’m watching his shrouded body burn.

The blue fire is ravenous, catching instantly and roaring to such a blaze that I resist the urge to take a step back. The one good thing about using holy fire for these ceremonies is that it burns hot and fast, and the whole thing is over in moments instead of an hour.

As the holy fire burns, I think of what Henry told me about Vardek’s blessings.

My father would see anyone with similar magic as a threat to his rule of the city. He’s a man who needs control at any cost. It makes sense that he would not abide teenagers with holy fire showing him up.

I know him enough to be certain of the validity of what Henry shared, the same way I know that my father would never willingly allow the Drained to come into Lunameade. For all his many flaws, my father has a code, and that code begins and ends with him looking good publicly to the people of the city. Sacrificing the fort to protect the city is a clear example of that.

Everyone has an agenda. Henry and his parents, Rochelli, Rafe—all of them want different things, and they are all also constantly making moves against each other. Henry’s family or friends could have orchestrated that run-in with Shane to turn me against my parents. The man was at Bea’s bar—a place Henry and his friends already knew about. He could have mimicked handwriting on that note that looked like Gaven’s to create doubt.

In the absence of a fully trustworthy source, I have to rely on my instincts, and I’m not sure what to do with this new information about my father. I suppose I can ask Kellan about it, but there is a direct correlation between what he expects my response to be and the likelihood that he will share the considerable knowledge granted to him as head of the city guard.

Philip holds up his hand, feeding one last bit of fire into the remaining wood. “May Divine Asher deliver the soul of his servant, Gaven Pomeroy, beyond the veil, and may he find peace with the deeds he has done and all that he’s left unfinished.”

“Divine receive him,” we all say in unison.

Bryce and Carter wander away, along with Henry’s parents, but my husband remains beside me, staring at the charred remnants.

“When you’re finished, a servant will gather the ashes and bring them to you if you’d like,” Henry says softly.

I frown. “Why? What would I do with them?”

Henry steps closer. “I thought you might want to sprinkle them in one of his favorite places. But if you’re too upset, you don’t have to think about it now. I can⁠—”

I turn on him. “I’m not upset. I asked for holy fire because I knew that would be meaningful to him. There’s nothing else I feel compelled to do to honor him, unless I haven’t performed my grief to your satisfaction.”

Henry licks his lips and frowns. “I’ll give you a moment alone to say what you need to.” He turns and leaves me with the pile of ashes.

I wait until I hear the Havenwood House doors close before I speak.

“I know you would urge me to let this go—to not take my chances with a man like Stefan—but it would just be pandering if I listened to you for the first time ever just because you died,” I whisper.

I tip my head back and sigh. This is so stupid. Speaking to Gaven’s remains makes me sadder than watching his body burn.

As much time as I spent trying to evade my bodyguard, it was nice knowing that there was someone behind me when I wanted him to be.

When I turn and walk back to the house, a new day has dawned—one where I’m finished waiting for revenge.

Three days after Gaven’s funeral pyre, a messenger dove arrives from Lunameade.

I look down at the wax seal, expecting it to be broken, the missive already read by Henry. But it’s still intact when he hands it to me. I guess he feels bad enough about Gaven’s death that he’s stopped confiscating or reading my mail.

I stop paging through the heavy book in front of me and hold the note up to the light streaming in through the library windows. My name is written out in Kellan’s messy handwriting. I break the seal and open the letter.

Found the well runoff. It turns into the blood mist just south of the wall, a short way into the Drained Wood. It explains the excessive attacks on South Hold, but the ones on North Hold are still a mystery.

I stare at the words, trying to make sense of them. My theory was right. Whatever is affecting the well seems to also be affecting the Drained. I was not expecting to find the origin of the blood mist.

I think of the story that Nicolina told about how the Deathless became the Drained by drinking the well water to try to gain more power. Maybe it’s the remnants of blood in the water driving them into a frenzy.

“Something wrong in the city?” Henry asks, startling me from my thoughts.

I shake my head, cross the library, and toss the missive into the fire.

The irritation on Henry’s face is delicious. He’s become better at controlling his aura’s reactions since he knows I’m paying attention, but it always gets a little prickly before he wrangles it. I’ve kept my distance from him, and his constant brooding is satisfying.

I’m right on the precipice of figuring out exactly what the Havenwoods want. My conversation with Henry was telling. It’s not a surprise that they want my father dead after what he did, but I’m wondering exactly how they plan to do it. If he weren’t so entrenched, I might have done it myself.

It might make sense to bathe the fort wall with well water because it’s smaller than the city. Trying to do the same in Lunameade would require a tremendous amount of water.

I have no intention of telling my parents everything I’ve learned, but knowing what is coming will help me figure out how much to give in order to earn the key and my way out. At this point, even if I told my father the truth about Henry, it’s not as if there’s an easy way to manage him.

Once the message finishes burning, I return to the still-open book on the library table. I sit and peer at the crude sketch of a Stellarium Blossom on the page.

When I first discovered my magic, I studied poisons to understand how different types worked, and through practice I learned that if I understood the way each plant poison worked, I could vary how my magic affected its victims.

When I killed my first husband, Marc, I used small doses of belladonna. A quick dip of a poisoned fingertip in his morning tea was enough to start the hallucinations, and I made them worse by adding a little more each day, until he was raving mad.

The healers of Mountain Haven have records of some different plants that are not in the books back in Lunameade. Most notably, they’ve documented the poison properties of Stellarium Blossoms. The flowers were so rare in Lunameade that I didn’t even realize they were poisonous. But according to this book, in low doses they have a subtle paralytic effect. In higher doses, they will paralyze the entire body and the victim will asphyxiate.

“Well then, I’ll let you get back to your studies of—” Henry bends over my chair, his breath ruffling my hair as he leans close. “Poisons.”

“I have a question about your deaths⁠—”

Henry stills but doesn’t object.

“Is it the method or the specific circumstances?” I ask. “Meaning, does a death from one poison prevent a death from any poison?”

“It’s the method—that’s why I can kiss you as much as I want.”

He’s so close that the juniper and cold mountain air scent of him is an assault on my senses. He slides my hair over my shoulder and brushes his nose up my neck.

I shiver, waiting for the sting of fangs, but he simply takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry. Did I distract you?”

I swat him away. “No, you just reminded me that I wanted to ask how you hide those fangs.”

He arches a brow. “They only come out when I need to feed—or if someone wants to play.”

That’s how he hid them from me. “So the first night I caught you on the hunt, you were going to feed on that woman.”

“Miriam. Yes.”

I frown. An irritating hint of envy fizzles through my blood.

He clicks his tongue. “It wasn’t the same with her. That was just a bit of fun. I never even had the impulse to claim her. That was just simple hunting and feeding. No need to be jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” I snap.

He arches a brow and tips his head forward. His dark hair falls over his forehead. It’s irritating for him to look this handsome when I’m so annoyed at him.

“Not jealous, but you are tense,” he murmurs. “All that late-night fantasizing not cutting it? I know you’ve been enjoying your toys, but I imagine it’s hard to get the same satisfaction without me. I’d be happy to have you back in my bed.”

The book on poisons is heavy enough that it could do some damage if I chucked it at him, but it’s too valuable. I might need to come back to it when I have more time.

He wants to disorient me? Fine. I can do it right back.

“I’d like to meet with Nicolina Laurence. Do you think she would see me?”

All the humor drains from Henry’s face. “Why her?”

“Because storytellers are also historians and it was her tale that clarified things for me.”

He scrubs a hand over his face, and his annoyance is only an added bonus to this task. “We would have to make an appointment. I will go to Raining Star Bar and see if she can see us this afternoon or this evening.”

I offer an overly cheery smile. “What a helpful husband.”

He rolls his eyes as he walks toward the library door. “I live to serve.” He eyes my book. “Seems like you could write such a book at this point.”

I cock my head and give him my most patronizing smile. “I can see how you might think that, but it’s like I’ve always said. A woman can never be too rich, too confident, or too knowledgeable about poisonous plants.”

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