Текст книги "The poison daughter"

Автор книги: Sheila Masterson

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Текущая страница: 46 (всего у книги 48 страниц)

“The rest of the high magical houses have pledged their support to his plan. Now I’m asking for yours,” Kellan says. “I’m not asking to be your leader for life. Just through this transition, so you can safely choose who you want governing Lunameade going forward. Thank you for hearing me out.”

The crowd erupts into cheering and clapping. The mood is more celebratory than I expected, but maybe I underestimated how it would feel for them to be out from under Harrick’s punitive rule.

Kellan crosses the stage and steps down beside us, his gaze fixed on Harlow.

“You were Rochelli this whole time, Kel?” she says breathlessly. “I know it’s only been intense this past year, but there were murmurs of him for a long time before that. I suppose you could keep it going by being both captain of the city guard and target of the guard’s investigation.”

He shrugs sheepishly. Gone is the confident leader who spoke to the crowd with poise. In his place is a worried older brother—who Harlow apparently almost killed last night.

“It was the only way,” Kellan says. “I couldn’t challenge them outright, but I could create a persona and see how they rose to meet him.”

Harlow shakes her head. “That’s a huge risk to take. How did you keep it a secret?”

Kellan swallows thickly. “You know my magic, Low. It’s not that hard to use it to direct suspicion elsewhere. That and Aidia gave me a glamoured cuff so I could change my appearance. I started rumors a few years back when I found out about the Vardek-blessed children, but I intensified it when I realized Rafe was beating Aidia. I just didn’t work fast enough.”

Harlow looks away for a moment, and when she looks back at him, her eyes are glassy. “You set me up to kill Henry,” she says, her voice cutting through the crowd’s cheering.

Kellan leans in close. “I wasn’t about to let our parents ship you off, too, Low. I set you up to meet him, and I figured if he was the good guy I met years ago at the last Dark Star Festival before the fort fell, he wouldn’t take you upstairs. And if he wasn’t, then he would die, and you would be safe again.” He smiles sheepishly at me. “No offense.”

I hold up a hand. “None taken. I had a sister, too.”

Harlow glowers at him. “You could have told me.”

Kellan shakes his head and waves to the crowd. “No, I couldn’t have. But I’m happy I can now. We can catch up later.” He kisses her cheek and disappears into the crush of people.

I hardly know what to do with myself. This is a victory, albeit not in the way I expected. Harrick is dead, and while the people of Lunameade will never know the full extent of his crimes, that public apology was more than I was expecting to get out of this arrangement.

So was a wife I’m in love with.

It’s like Harlow can feel me thinking about her. She notices that she’s holding my hand and releases it. I’ve never been so bereft by the loss of such simple intimacy.

She tucks her arms behind her back. “This doesn’t change anything.”

When she turns to go, I catch her wrist.

“Come to North Hold at sundown.”

She frowns. “Why?”

“Just say you’ll come.”

She looks out at the crowd instead of meeting my eye. “I’ll think about it,” she says after a long pause.

It’s as good as I can hope for. I’m not giving up on her, but it’s going to take a Divine-damn miracle to win her back.

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64HARLOW

The dark feels the slightest bit less oppressive as I climb up the stairs in front of North Hold. I told myself I only came here to avoid Kellan, who spent most of the afternoon hunting me from bar to bar around the city, trying to talk.

Fortunately for me, he’s become the most popular man in Lunameade, so it was easy to lose him in a crowd of enthusiastic citizens.

Eventually, I’ll be forced to hear him out, to unpack the complicated mix of anger, relief, and gratitude that he fought for me when I thought he had given up. For now, I need space.

For some reason, that space has led me to the last place I ever thought I’d go willingly.

I knock, but there’s no answer. Apprehension swells in my stomach. I knock twice more with no reply.

I should leave. Run. Go find the tunnel key and force my siblings to take me through it. Anything would be better than standing suspended in the threshold of North Hold, as afraid to step inside as I am to walk away. I’m not a coward, but I’m so afraid of what new horror stepping into my sister’s home will unleash.

I can’t decide if it’s worse to wonder what Aidia didn’t tell me about what happened to her behind closed doors, or if finding evidence of specific horrors will make it worse.

Finally, I summon enough courage to open the door and step inside. The grand staircase in the entryway is bright, lit by an array of sunstones that gleam off the white marble floor and bounce off the glass-blown chandelier hanging from the third-story ceiling.

A faint groan sounds from somewhere in the house, but I can’t place it.

“Hello?” I call.

Movement overhead catches my eye. Henry leans over the third-floor banister. “We’re up here.”

I climb the stairs slowly, uneasiness churning in my stomach as I reach the second-floor landing. Another flight of stairs and I’m breathless from fear.

I round the railing and draw up short.

Henry stands over Rafe, brandishing a fire poker. He looks feral. His hair is damp with sweat and hanging in his eyes. The top few buttons of his white shirt are undone, his sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, revealing strong forearms, and his hands are covered in blood.

“What do you think?” he asks, pointing the poker at Rafe. “Is it enough?”

Rafe’s face is mottled with bruises. His left eye is swollen closed, his nose looks broken, and his chin is covered with dried blood. His right wrist hangs at an odd angle, and he’s curled over his ribs like some of them are broken.

No. It’s not enough. It would be impossible to make him feel the claustrophobic fear I’ve felt ebbing, trapped in a body out of my control—to make him hurt the way I’ve hurt.

“This is the second go,” Henry says. “I already healed him up once. I figured it’s only fair since he did it to both of you.”

He sounds so casual about recreating my wounds and Aidia’s on the man who delivered them to us.

My chest feels too full. Seeing Rafe always brings back bad memories, but seeing how meticulously Henry paid attention—how he made sure to deliver all the same injuries—is strangely romantic. This violent intimacy should horrify me, but I’m more turned on than disgusted and more relieved than sad.

Rafe blinks up at me and mumbles something through his broken teeth.

“Don’t speak to my wife,” Henry snaps. His voice carries the same menace as the scrape of Drained claws over the city gates. “Speak to me.”

Rafe winces.

It feels good to see him afraid.

Henry holds the poker out to me. “Do you want a turn?”

I’m surprised that I don’t. For so long, all I wanted to do was beat him to a bloody pulp for making me kill the person I loved most in the world. But now that he has no power left, I just want to stop giving him my energy and attention.

He has to die, not just for what he’s done, but because men like him will always find a way to turn a second chance into an opportunity to be so much worse. Much as I might like to watch him suffer being powerless in the interim, it wouldn’t be worth the dread I’d live with knowing he’s still breathing.

“No. I just want him gone,” I say.

Henry smiles wickedly. “Gladly.” He yanks Rafe to his feet, ignoring the mayor’s protests. “Rafe, go stand on the railing.”

Rafe stumbles forward to the railing. It’s satisfying watching him try to resist and fail. He struggles to climb up onto the narrow wooden banister, his battered body protesting the movements. At least this one is flat.

The balcony railing he made Aidia and me stand on was curved. My feet were so cramped from gripping the stone, it took almost two weeks of foot massages for the knots to finally release.

I shiver at the memory of the time I was bedridden and grieving.

Rafe finally gets himself upright.

Henry steps up behind me. He’s close enough that I can feel his body heat, but he doesn’t touch me. “You just say when, lovely.”

We stand there in silence for a few long minutes.

“You know what? I don’t think I can do it. I don’t know if I have it in me.” I step up to the railing beside Rafe, and he looks at me hopefully. “You know what might change my mind?” I hold his gaze and smile. “Begging. You remember how long you made me beg? You like begging, right?”

And he does. Rafe begs in the most pathetic way. I thought it would feel more satisfying, but the fact is, the only thing he loves in this world is himself, and that just doesn’t have the same impact.

“Enough,” I sigh. I look at Henry and nod. “I’m good.”

Rafe tries to crane his head to look at us, but he wobbles and nearly falls.

“Rafe, jump to the first floor face-first,” Henry says.

And then he does.

I don’t watch him fall, but I hear him land with a sickening thud. For a moment, I’m right back on the balcony, staring down at my sister.

I feel sick and also free.

Rafe Mattingly is dead, and he can never compel me to hurt someone I love again.

But my husband can.

Henry tilts my chin up. “I know you want to punish me.”

Of course I want to punish him. He made me feel so stupid and blind. It’s hard to describe this kind of betrayal. I thought he understood me in some innate way, but what if he was just using his magic to sense things about my emotional state? What if he doesn’t know me at all?

I thought he was someone who understood how to help me put my armor on. But what if that only applies to people who aren’t him?

These are all things I wish I could say, but they’re trapped in my throat, and I’d rather choke than let him hurt me again.

“Here’s a way to do it.” He hands me a small metal object.

“What is this?” I turn it over in my hand.

It’s a lighter.

“It’s what you wanted since we got married.”

“A way to murder you that would actually stick?” I shouldn’t make light of this, but I’m so uncomfortable under the weight of his astute assessment.

“Yes.”

I wait for him to smile, but he doesn’t. I open the lighter and spin the wheel with my thumb.

A small blue holy fire flame sparks to life. I’m so shocked, I almost drop the lighter and set the whole house on fire. The lid clicks closed, snuffing out the flame.

I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before. Of course holy fire would work. How did I watch Gaven’s body burn so fast and not think of it then? How did I not think of it after he told me about how his sister couldn’t be called back because she burned away to nothing? Regardless, it wouldn’t have mattered then, because it’s not magic I can wield myself.

Until now.

“You’ve never been killed by holy fire,” I whisper.

“If I had, there would be nothing left to call my soul back to except a pile of ashes,” he says. “I know that not telling you about my second blessing made you feel unsafe, but I only realized after the fact how bad it was for you. If I had known what Rafe did—” He groans and rubs the back of his neck. “By the time I realized all that you’d been through, you were reeling from remembering these horrible things that happened to you. I wanted you to feel safe. I didn’t want to make you feel like I had tricked you, like I had used you, which is exactly how I made you feel.”

“So you gave me a way to kill you.”

He strokes my jaw with his thumb. “I gave you a way to feel safe.”

The words take the wind out of me. He’s right. He literally handed me a way to hurt him any time I want to. He’s trying to make peace.

I’m breathless. I wasn’t imagining it before. He does understand. He just didn’t have the whole picture before. It’s so tempting to throw myself at him, but I’m feeling too many things to sort through them all right now.

His face is full of earnest contrition. “Harlow, come back with me. Please.”

I’m mortified, so overwhelmed with gratitude that there are tears in my eyes.

The first thing he wanted to do when he found out what I’d been through was make me feel safe. But I’ve never been good at being taken care of, and everything he does makes me feel too fragile. I’m too raw from the day and too shaken by all the revelations that have come to light just as the eclipse shadow is lifting.

For a woman who has stayed in one place her whole life, I suddenly can’t seem to hold still.

There are so many things I don’t know how to express. My heart knows Henry is safe, but my body can’t feel it. Everything is too intense right now.

All that I can think to do is lean on the first and most important survival skill I have. I turn and run.

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65HARLOW

Iknow I won’t find peace at the bottom of a wine bottle, but I will at least find a temporary escape.

When I fled North Hold, I had nowhere to go. I couldn’t go back to South Hold and face the chaos, or to the boarding house and face Henry. So I went to the only place I could think of, the small two-bedroom apartment Bea had set up for me and Aidia, right before Rafe killed her.

It took half of the first bottle of wine stolen from Bea’s secret stash to even get myself to go inside, but once I was in, it wasn’t as daunting to be there as I expected.

The space was a dream—not a real place my sister had a chance to inhabit. I have no memories of Aidia here. It’s just a place where I rented out hope for a short time.

After my sister died, Bea kept paying for the space. It’s right across from her bar, and I think she was hoping I’d move in so she could keep an eye on me. Even now, I can only vaguely remember the conversation we had the first time I ventured out after recovering.

I drain the last of the first bottle of wine and place the empty bottle on the side table. Then, I cross the room and yank the darts from the bullseye on the living room wall.

Turning back and crossing the room, I lob all of my darts in quick succession. One misses the board entirely, lodging itself in the wall just beneath it. The rest stick at the very bottom of the bullseye.

The apartment door creaks open, but I don’t turn. I know it’s Bea.

“You always were terrible at darts, Low,” she says.

I shrug a shoulder. “Imagine how insufferable I would be if I was good at everything.” I turn slowly and take in her appearance.

She’s wearing a tight pair of black pants and her signature button-down, which is open enough to show a glimpse of her cleavage. I’m sure the bar was an absolute madhouse given the day’s events, but Bea looks as fresh as if she just started her shift. Her short hair is still immaculate, and her brown skin has a golden glow, as if she were blessed by Harvain.

It’s actually offensive for an ex to be so beautiful, but that recognition is more a habit than backed by real emotion. It’s not like how I feel when I look at Henry, when it feels like the Divine have conspired to make a man so devastatingly handsome that I can hardly breathe when he looks at me.

“How did you find me?” I ask.

Bea crosses the room, grabs the second bottle of wine, and uncorks it. “I saw the light on when I stepped out for some air.”

She takes a sip of the wine straight from the bottle and moans in satisfaction. Then, she hands me the bottle.

“Big day,” she says.

It’s an invitation to tell her everything, but I am too tired to relive it all. “Henry lied to me.”

Bea arches a brow. “Well, he is a man.”

I take a long gulp of wine to try to wash down the lump in my throat. “He’s twice-blessed—by Elvodeen…and Polm.”

Bea reaches for the bottle, and I reluctantly hand it back to her. “And he used it on you?”

I nod.

“How?”

My mouth is dry and the wine hasn’t helped at all. “I’m not certain, but I think when I was losing it over my parents letting Rafe kill Aidia.”

The crease in Bea’s brow softens. “Low, I’m⁠—”

I hold up a hand. “I can’t do that now. I’m here to make a plan.”

She nods, then takes a long gulp of wine and hands it back to me. “Okay. What kind of plan?”

I don’t even know how to articulate this. I need a plan to escape my husband, or to stay with him forever, or to keep being the Poison Vixen, or to make peace with Kellan, or to fix the madness in me that saw Aidia for six months after she died—the same madness that longs to see her still.

“I don’t know what to do now,” I say. “I can’t stay at South Hold.”

“Of course you can’t,” Bea says.

“Henry lied, but he also killed Rafe. Violently.”

Bea purses her lips. Her ability to remain unfazed by truly unexpected information is born out of years of bartending, and I’ve always found it comforting to know I could never tell her the craziest thing she’s ever heard.

“So will you go back to Mountain Haven, then?” Bea asks.

I don’t even know if that’s what I want. I only know that being here in the city feels like too much with all I know now.

“Are you in love with him?” Bea whispers the question, like she’s trying not to scare off a wounded beast.

I want to tell her it’s a stupid question—to deny it loudly and repeatedly. I want to tell her that loving him is the most foolish, reckless thing I could do.

Instead, I say, “But what about the Poison Vixen? What about the women who need us?”

Bea sighs and takes the wine from my shaking hands, then sets it on the table beside me. She places her hand on my shoulders and faces me head-on.

“I think you needed the Vixen just as much as those women did—but you deserve some peace, Harlow. I have never known you to have any—not until now. That feeling that’s so uncomfortable—that’s safety.”

I stare at her, barely breathing.

“I meant what I told you before you left for Mountain Haven,” Bea says. “There are more women who want to help—who might find healing through it the same way that you did. You’ve always been so Divine-damn bad at taking help, but Josie and I have been planning for this for a long time because we saw how it helped you. We all have scores to settle. This network has given me purpose and it’s helped Josie heal. This isn’t something you need to do alone.”

For so long, I was focused only on myself. It didn’t occur to me that other women might be healed through this same empowering violence.

“I have only ever asked you for what I knew you could give me,” Bea says. “Let us pick up the slack for a while. Take care of yourself. Figure out what you want, and you can come back when you’re ready and we’ll always be happy to have you.”

She doesn’t wait for me to answer. She leans over and kisses my cheek.

Then, she turns and walks to the door, pausing in the threshold. She doesn’t turn to face me as she says, “And stop stealing my favorite wine.”

Bea closes the door behind her and leaves me alone with my ghosts.

I place the last beloved bottle of pilfered wine on the side table and walk into the bedroom that was supposed to be Aidia’s.

The bed is covered in a thin white sheet, as is most of the furniture. Only the antique vanity is unveiled. I sit down in front of the mirror, place my head in my hands, and the sadness rises like it’s waited all day for this exact moment.

I break down into body-heaving sobs. I cry for my sister, for myself, for the person I might have been if my life had been just a little bit less cruel. I cry for all the times I wanted to and couldn’t. Most of all, I cry for all the times I believed I was weak, when I was just broken under the weight of my grief.

It’s unclear if it takes moments or hours for the years of twisted-up emotions to come out, but the streets grow silent and the midnight bells ring.

When I finally glance up at the mirror in front of me, I know I will find my sister looking back. She’s standing behind me, her face illuminated by the sunstone streetlight pouring in through the bedroom windows. Her skin is no longer bruised. She looks radiant in a simple midnight-blue wool dress, with her black hair loose around her shoulders.

“You’re not real,” I say.

The corner of her mouth quirks up. “I know.”

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

“But you wanted me to be,” she says, her voice so gentle.

I nod. I did. Even though I know she’s not real, I wanted to see her again. Even if I’m just talking to myself, it feels good to think of how she would make my worries feel lighter.

“Is this about that husband of yours?” she asks.

I nod.

“You’re in love with him?”

I bite my lip. “He killed Rafe.”

Aidia laughs, loud and sudden. “Bleeding woods! Now I’m in love with him, too. I guess I’ll have to fight you for him.” She beckons me toward her with both hands. “Come on, let’s go. I know you have more experience rumbling with people, but I’m pretty scrappy. I think I could still take you.”

When I don’t rise to her taunting, she sighs, and her face softens. “What are you so afraid of, Low? Henry knows who you are.”

I cock my head. That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.

“He’s who you deserve,” Aidia says. “You have made yourself into my monster, into a monster for the women of Lunameade. You deserve someone who will be a monster for you.”

And Henry has done that. He recognized his mistake, and he tried to bring me peace.

“I know you love to run, Low. But as long as you’re looking for a reason to, you will find it.”

I look down at my hands for a long moment. When I finally meet her lilac eyes in the glass again, she’s right behind me.

“It’s always going to feel safer to be on your own because a lot of people abandoned you,” Aidia says. “But if you run, you’ll be abandoning yourself along with them.”

My throat is so tight. I’m afraid to let Henry love me. Afraid that he will stop. Afraid that I will learn to need him and he won’t be there.

“I just want—” My voice cracks, and I take a deep breath. “Certainty.”

Aidia smiles sadly and reaches for my shoulder. I can’t feel her touch, but it’s still nice to imagine I can.

“Too bad, little Low. Life doesn’t grant us that.”

I’m gripped with the irrational terror of losing her forever. I want to grab her, to make her stay with me. “I don’t know how to do this without you.”

“Sure you do. You’ve been doing it for half a year. You protected all those women from their husbands. You protected the city from our parents. You fell in love with a man who looks like he was sculpted by the Divine.”

I laugh, and Aidia grins widely.

“Seriously, please tell me his cock is super bent or small or something. It’s a Divine crime for a man to be that good-looking,” she says.

I bite my lip to keep from laughing.

She rolls her eyes. “Of course he’s perfect. And you deserve to let him love you. You deserve someone looking out for you. And from what you’ve said, it sounds like he deserves some color in his world.”

“But I need you, Aidy.” I sound so young.

“No, you don’t.”

“This can’t be the last time I see you,” I plead.

“It needs to be. It’s time to move on.”

I shake my head. “I can’t. I refuse.”

She cocks her head, and a hint of a smile plays across her lips. “You can. Do you know how I’m certain?”

I wait for her to say the words that are summoned from somewhere inside my head.

“Because when I say it, you will say your part, and then I will be gone, but you will know I’ve left you with my blessing,” she whispers.

I thought I spent all my tears earlier, but fresh grief makes my eyes burn. I blink to clear my vision so I can look right into her lilac gaze.

“My heart,” she whispers, the words like a spell rending me from my history, casting me into my future.

I stare at Aidia’s face that is so much like my own, trying to burn every inch of her into my brain forever as I say, “My bones.”

I draw in a tight breath, and tears pour down my cheeks. I rest my head on my forearms on the tip of the vanity and sob, “Our blood.”

I know she’s gone. I know it’s not really Aidia. I know it’s just my fractured mind grieving. But it still feels good to have this conversation with myself, because even when I look up into the vanity mirror and see that she’s gone, I know in my heart that she would approve of my decision.

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