Текст книги "The poison daughter"
Автор книги: Sheila Masterson
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Текущая страница: 47 (всего у книги 48 страниц)
66HARLOW
Light returns to Lunameade the way you wake from dreaming—one small crack of sunshine, and then all at once, the world is lit anew.
The remnants of Dark Star Festival still adorn the businesses around the square and the homes and apartments that line the streets leading away from the Blood Well. Golden star garlands hang over the roads. Burned-down candle nubs form abstract sculptures at the bottom of the luminary jars that line the streets. Sleepy people clean up loose streamers and empty bottles from the ground.
A gust of wind ruffles my hair and dress. I pull my cloak tighter to brace against the chill. Dark Star Festival is the turning point of winter. The days will get lighter from here on out, but we’re approaching the coldest part of the season. It’s the most difficult time to distribute resources in Lunameade, but with Kellan in charge, I’m confident he will be able to manage it.
I pause a few steps behind my brother, so I won’t distract him from his work.
Kellan watches the guards place a cover over the well. It looks more like an altar than a barrier. Several more men place the seven statues of the Divine atop the new cover. Their white marble gleams in the morning sun. Several women and their children stand off to the side, pointing and chatting animatedly as they adjust armfuls of flowers. Once the guards finish securing the statues and the cover, they step away.
Immediately, the women and children rush in and place flowers around the feet of the Divine.
“It’s a good idea,” I say quietly.
Kellan doesn’t turn to look at me. “It’s not forever. In a month or two, we will need to go back to doing blessings. We’ll also need to bless some older children who were never taken to the well.”
“How?” I ask.
“Their parents hid them. Father’s secret of killing the children blessed by Vardek was not so well-kept in some circles,” he says. “There are women who had their babies at home and never registered them in the city birth records for fear of which Divine would bless them. Most of them come from family lines that have historically received Vardek’s blessing. We all know that they could end up blessed by any of the Divine, but they thought it better safe than sorry. Better to have a living, unblessed child.”
“Do you really think you can manage the wall and the other high houses without our father or Able?” I ask.
Finally, my brother turns to face me. He looks changed in a way that’s hard to pinpoint. It’s as if he’s been made lighter by our father’s death, but heavier by the burden of responsibility that’s fallen on him. When he smiles, his eyes light up, and it reminds me so much of Aidia that it’s hard to breathe.
“I think the high houses are committed and relieved to have a different Carrenwell to deal with, but I’m not foolish enough to think it will be easy or that there won’t still be people coming for me. I’m counting on our siblings to help me hold on for now.” He glances at the gathering crowd.
“How did you hide those children with holy fire from our father?” I ask.
Kellan gives a shrug and a mischievous smile, as if he’s a child getting away with hiding sweets, instead of a grown man who has been hiding magically blessed children under our father’s nose for years.
“I marked them all as blessed by Elvodeen. In the dim well light, I could pretend it was an honest mistake. But I kept a running list, and I could go to visit the families once the gifts showed up to ensure they knew how to hide it while still learning to use it. You know how it is in Lunameade. Every spare bit of space is used. When you can’t work at ground level, you have to go up. We used the roof of the birth center in the Northeast Quadrant. Plenty of space and all the guards avoid it like they’re afraid they’ll catch something.”
“Smart. How many are there?” I ask.
“Four in their twenties. About six more in their teens. And ten too young to fully come into their magic yet. I think we can get the older ones on rotation for a quadrant each. Doing a quadrant requires way less magic. I’m cautiously optimistic that this will be a better way.”
I cast a glance south. I can’t see South Hold from here, but I can feel it lurking, its presence ominous and constant. “And Able?”
Kellan leans closer and lowers his voice. “He’s chained up in the Cove. I want to see if not going in the well for a while will bring him back. He hasn’t been himself in a very long time.”
“How do you know this isn’t himself?”
Kellan sighs and places his hands on my shoulders. “You’re not prone to trust, Low, but this is something you’ll have to trust me on. You’re hardly the only sibling who had to survive our father. Think long and hard about what you know about how he treated these Vardek-blessed children who weren’t even a threat yet. If Able can’t come back, you can have the task of putting him out of his misery if you really want. I’ll even make the soup so you only have to bring the poison. But for now, let’s wait and see what happens.”
I’m angry, but I can’t argue. Kellan isn’t that much older than me, but he has always had access to more information.
“I would never have let them marry you off to Rafe. It wouldn’t have come to that,” he says softly.
“But you let them send me off with Henry,” I say.
“You always wanted to leave. And I met Henry when we were younger. I showed him and his sister around the festival one year. So I knew him.”
I cross my arms. “Not well.”
Kellan sighs. “I knew enough. It’s the job of anyone with Polm’s blessing to take the measure of a man quickly. Henry is not a man who would hurt his wife.”
“He hurt me plenty.”
Kellan’s eyebrows shoot up. “Your heart or your ego?”
I look back at the Divine statues over the Blood Well.
“Don’t be proud, Low.” He throws an arm around my shoulder and leans his cheek against the top of my head. “I saw his extra blessing on Descent night. I didn’t know before that. When they came to town before, they hid their auras with rings. I couldn’t tell what his magic was. But at that party, I saw the purple, and then I saw the orange when he was convincing the crowd to go along with the rumors about Rafe. It’s a credit to him and his commitment to the greater good that he went along with it. Imagine lying to protect Rafe.”
I grimace.
“Exactly.”
Kellan squeezes my shoulder and nods toward the edge of the square, where Henry stands waiting. “I made him walk with me in the garden and I told him what you’d been through because I know you and I know you wouldn’t be forthcoming. You deserve to be understood, and the reason I wasn’t worried about him having Polm’s blessing was because I knew he wouldn’t use it to hurt you.” He kisses the top of my head. “Now stop sulking over your bruised pride and go talk to your husband. His brooding is bringing down the celebratory mood.”
Henry leaves me no choice or time to escape. He’s already walking over to us.
“I was coming to retrieve my wife,” he says.
I frown. “And if she’s unwilling to be retrieved?”
Henry’s wicked grin sends a shiver through me. “I do love the chase.” He gestures down the road. “How much of a head start do you want?”
Just the thought of it sends a flood of heat through my body.
Kellan looks from Henry to me. “Not sure what’s going on here, but I’m confident I don’t want to know.” He kisses my cheek. “Let it go, Low. And come to dinner tonight. Both of you.”
Henry watches Kellan go to greet the crowd before turning his attention back to me. He holds out his arm, and I reluctantly take it.
I let him lead me through the crowd of people gathered to see the new Blood Well cover. I can understand their fascination. While the well has always been guarded, it’s never been covered like this for anything other than festivals, and it’s clearly bringing up a lot of feelings from the people who have been bleeding for our power all these years.
A steady stream of revelers wanders by us, everyone on their way to celebrate the return of daylight as well as this new way of life in Lunameade. Children run by us, ribbons held above their heads, streaming behind them in blurs of color. Couples kiss and laugh as they share bites of berry cakes from a nearby bakery.
Everything seems so astonishingly normal.
When we finally break free from the heaviest crush of the crowd, I expect Henry to start apologizing, but he just continues silently leading me down the street.
His silence is disconcerting. I watch him out of the corner of my eye.
“Like what you see, wife?”
“You look terrible,” I say.
He very much does not. He looks rugged and handsome and like he needs a haircut, but I don’t want him to get it because I like being able to grab a handful of those waves while he—
I snap my gaze away. The last thing I need to be thinking about now is Henry’s lying mouth.
“We’ve agreed to share everything the fort knows about the Breeders with your brother and to help track nests of them so that we can try to cull the population,” he says. “I’m hopeful that we might be able to get to a place where trade is possible again and it’s not so dangerous to pass between Lunameade and Mountain Haven.”
I nod. It’s exciting to think about the possibilities this could open up. If the lack of blood tithes makes the Drained weaker, or perhaps just tamer, there’s no telling how different the future could be from the past. I’m not usually one for hope, but it’s thrilling to consider not just escaping the city walls, but the freedom to explore more of the world beyond the Drained Wood.
“Your brother has granted a contingent of forty men to help supplement our forces at the fort,” Henry says. “It will be an adjustment for everyone there, not without its share of conflict, but it will make a big difference.”
He’s so calm. The more casual and conversational he is, the more my anger grows. That feeling is only exacerbated by the fact that I know he can feel how annoyed I am about it.
“Can you just say what you need to say?” I snap, turning to face him.
Henry grabs my hand and tugs me into the alleyway beside us so we’re away from the stream of people rushing toward the Blood Well.
He searches my face. “Could you trust me again?”
“Would you use your magic on me?”
“Only with your permission.” He takes my hands.
I scowl at him. “Why would I ever give you permission to—”
I realize why the second his gaze heats. He means he would use it to control me in bed if I wanted him to. Warmth pools in my stomach and my cheeks burn at the thought.
The corner of Henry’s mouth twitches. “I only ever used it on you twice. You’re quite hard to hook.”
I cock my head. “So you wanted to use it more than that?”
He sighs in exasperation. “No. I wanted to see if I could get in if I had to.”
I want to be angry, but I would have gone to any lengths in order to get vengeance for Aidia. It’s hard to be mad at him when I would do the same thing.
“I did it when you were having your headache because I thought maybe I could find a way to use it to make the pain stop. I couldn’t, but I could help soothe you to sleep so you didn’t have to feel so acutely. And I used it when you were in the garden grieving because I realized what a mistake I’d made. You were so distraught, and I just wanted to ease your pain.”
“That doesn’t make it okay,” I snap.
He holds up his hands to brace against my anger. “I know that.”
“You didn’t have my permission.”
He nods. “I know.”
“Consent matters.”
“I know.”
It’s so uncomfortable to even confront how much he’s hurt me and even more so to do it aloud. There’s a lump in my throat so large I can hardly breathe around it. “I’m so angry at you for making me care. I was supposed to get Aidia back and be done caring. But you ruined it and now I’m just a stupid woman who cares about a man who manipulated her and I’m so furious with you.”
“Good. Be mad at me.”
His encouragement takes the air out of me, and I falter.
“You want me to be mad?”
“Yes, I want your anger. Be as mad at me as you need to, just not from a forest away. Stay with me. Make me suffer for it. I’d rather be tortured by your presence than agonized by your absence.”
I’m speechless. I am so used to forcing my feelings into an acceptable shape—so used to managing my emotions so they don’t inconvenience or endanger someone else. No one has ever given me the space and time to feel what I feel.
He takes a tentative step closer, his aura swirling, dark burnt orange and plum. “Look, Harlow. I don’t want to convince you. I want you to want to come with me. I want to know that you’re with me, not because of a deal you made with your parents, or a promise you made before the Divine, but because you want to be with me. I’d be no better than everyone else who pretended to love you if I didn’t let you decide for yourself.” He tilts my chin up. “I want to look into these beautiful violet eyes every day and know that this woman who brought color back to my world chose to be my wife.”
I stare at him in shock. “You can see me.”
His smile softens the sharp lines of his face. “I can see you.”
“For how long?” I rasp.
“Since the study.”
I laugh in shock. “If I knew property damage got you going, I would have skipped the usual seduction and gone right to work destroying your room.”
Henry grins and cups my face. “It was seeing how you’ve survived—seeing your grief and rage. I saw something familiar in you, and I finally felt like I understood you. And then you went inside, and you were so angry, and it just clicked. I felt a buzz in my head, and when I blinked my eyes open… There you were.”
I can see it so clearly in my mind. He looked at me in that moment, and when I asked why, he just said, “I see you.”
He leans his forehead against mine. “I am so wretchedly in love with you. Put me out of my misery. I don’t want to pretend anymore. I want you.”
It’s satisfying that he sounds bereft, that I feel his agony in my chest. All at once, I know I’ve only been pretending to consider it because I don’t want to stay here any more than I want to be without him.
“Under one condition.”
Henry pulls back, a hopeful smile on his face. The earnest relief in his eyes is a gut punch, but I refuse to cry right now.
“Name it,” he says.
I back away from him slowly. “You have to catch me first.”
I tear off into the crowd, knowing that for all my years of running, I’ll be happy to finally be caught.
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LOOKING FOR SOMETHING…
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Angsty, Hot, Light-hearted? Try:
A LEGACY OF STARS – When a witch is accidentally heart-bonded to her nemesis, she enters a brutal magical tournament to win a godly favor to break that bond & claim her true love's hand. With rebel assassins lurking, her opponents out for blood, & her new bond proving a perilous liability, she must outwit gods & men before her foes claim the winning favor or her life. (Standalone spinoff from THE LOST GOD Series that can be read before or after the original series. Available in print, KU, ebook, & audio)
Gothic & “Coming of Rage?” Try:
SONG OF THE DARK WOOD – A young woman with a spirit-enchanting voice must ferry the souls of the departed across the Dark Wood to the god of death and seduce him into telling her the cause of a mysterious magical blight infecting her village food supply. (Book one of a series of interconnected illustrated dark fairy tale standalones available in print, KU, ebook, & audio)
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
When Michaela Cole won her Emmy in 2021, her acceptance speech lit a fire in me. She said, “Write the tale that scares you, that makes you feel uncertain, that is uncomfortable. I dare you. In a world that entices us to browse through the lives of others to help us better determine how we feel about ourselves, and to, in turn, feel the need to be constantly visible, for visibility these days seems to somehow equate to success. Do not be afraid to disappear, from it, from us, for a while, and see what comes to you in the silence.”
So the first thanks should go to her for writing one of the rawest depictions of trauma I’ve ever watched, and for using her spotlight to uplift other creatives. I’ve returned to her words many times.
This book terrified me. It’s dark and twisted. It’s a huge departure from my usual FMCs, and a way deeper dive into the depths of mental health and grief, but I’ve never been more proud of a book.
I’ve often played with the theme of common monstrosity—of who gets to point the finger at the villain, and how women are often expected to absorb the poison of the world and transmute it into something good. This time, I wanted to show how one might let that poison win.
I think the best stories come from the stuck pain at the center of us. While I’ve explored that place many times in past books, this is the rawest version of it.
There’s no way to prepare to meet your own darkness. There’s only what you’re brave enough to look at, and what you don’t have the courage to face yet. Harlow is a character born out of everything I’ve learned about surviving. It was so healing to write her sharpness, wit, and especially her pain. Let this be a sign to all the creatives to make the messy thing.
Now on to the gratitude.
To Tanya – Thank you for sitting on the phone with me for hours while I vaguely talked through this one so I could brainstorm without spoiling anything for your critique. I’m so lucky that you’ve been down to read the worst versions of my stories for twenty-five years.
To Liz – As always, thank you for baring the brunt of my drama. You were right (try to contain yourself) that this book was not too smart for me. Thanks for pushing me through the biggest one yet. I’ll try to keep it a little more succinct from now on.
To my indie writer friends – Jenessa, Whit, Gretchen, Nicole, Courtney, Katie, Victoria, and all the other indies who have supported me. In particular to Helen, for listening to me agonize over the length of book is for months, & for assuring me I knew what I was doing. And to Callie, for talking me through day one with such hard-earned wisdom & grace.
To Erin – Thank you for hacking through this comma-less chonk of a book and for the personal feedback. It meant so much to me.
To Tabs – Thanks for seeing me through book seven, beast that she is.
To Charlotte – Thank you for once again turning my chaotic art briefs into something stunning and thank you for the duckling pics.
To my beta readers – Anastasia, Lauren, Fil, Whit, Tayla, and Alicia. Thank you for your brilliant feedback, keen eye for consistency, and your unwavering support when I needed it most.
To Megan – Thanks for being the glue holding me together on the hard days, for never letting me quit, and for understanding the mess.
To my business witches – This year, more than ever, I’m beyond grateful for your steadfast love, your creative magic, and these friendships that flow on and on like a river.
To Colin, Alex, and Bear – My Heart. My Bones. My Blood. Being your big sister is the best job I’ve ever had. I love you.
To the rest of my family – Thanks for not reading this book and/or never bringing it up if you did.
To my friends – Thanks for rallying around my books (even the non-readers) and for making me occasionally leave my desk.
To my Little Doves – With each release, your enthusiasm forces me to make my wildest dreams even wilder. I could not do it without you.
To my readers – Thank you for taking a walk through these bloody woods with me. Your kind words, unhinged posts, and encouragement are a spell that carries me through the low days. So mote it be.
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