Page 14 of The Poison Daughter
A barmaid appears, holding a bucket of ice with a bottle of sparkling wine. Both items are luxuries in a walled-off city. I try to hide my shock, but I can tell I’ve failed by the look of satisfaction on Asher’s face.
“I’ll admit I was trying to impress you, so I sprung for the expense of a chilled bottle.”
The Heartless Haven Pub has some wealthy clientele. It only takes a glance around the room to spot them, but I’m surprised they have the resources for ice and such expensive wine. Over the years, the selection of wines from beyond the mountains has dwindled drastically. If we didn’t have a full cellar of it at home, I would be more impressed.
I suppose this was why Asher’s wife wasn’t concerned about paying me so much. He’s quick to spend his money wining and dining other women.
He pours me a glass, and the foam rises to the lip, stopping just short of spilling over. I take a long pull, the bubbles sharp and sweet on my tongue. My lipstick leaves a red imprint on the glass. Asher looks from the glass to my mouth as he takes the world’s tiniest sip.
He’s going to make me work for this. The longer we spend sitting here, the more likely it is someone will recognize me. I suddenly regret not wearing a glamour, even though it makes me feel powerful to enact justice with my own face.
“So, were you and your friend out to celebrate something this evening?” I ask.
“Yes.” He casts a glance at the bar, but his friend has already made himself scarce. “We came out to celebrate his last night as a single man. Were he not already disgustingly in love, he’d probably be here trying to win you over as well.”
“Nothing wrong with a man who knows when he’s met his match.”
Asher takes a longer sip of his wine. “Maybe someday soon I’ll know the feeling. And what are you celebrating?”
I grin and lift my glass in a toast. “The slow, unwitting defeat of my enemies.”
He pauses with his glass halfway to his lips and laughs. “Well, that calls for a serious celebration. Perhaps we could find somewhere more private to speak? I have a room upstairs.”
I shouldn’t be surprised that he was so certain he’d succeed in finding someone to cheat on his wife with that he rented a room ahead of time. That makes things easier. No nosy barmaids or boarding hosts to get a glimpse of me.
Still, I prefer my marks a little drunker than he is. Booze makes them more handsy, but it also makes them clumsy and more malleable. However, the less time I spend in public with him, the better.
I trail my fingers down the neckline of my dress before letting my hand rest on his. “So eager?”
He leans forward, running his fingers up the inside of my forearm. “I’m really enjoying this conversation, but I’d love to take it somewhere more quiet.”
I smile demurely. “That sounds perfect.”
He presses a brass key into my palm discreetly. “Go up now and let yourself in. It’s the last door on the left by the other staircase. I’ll wait a few minutes before joining you so no one suspects anything, and I’ll bring the refreshments with me.”
Strange that he’s concerned about preserving my reputation. Normally, these men are groping me in the hallway before I ever make it upstairs. But I finish my glass and rise to my feet, letting him kiss my hand as if I’m leaving. Then, I turn and duck out of the bar. Instead of leaving, I turn left at the door and climb the staircase to the boarding floor.
The door creaks open and I step into a small, dimly lit room. The candles on the bedside table are nearly burned all the way down. Wax puddles in the candleholders, leaving the room smelling like burnt beeswax and smoke from the fire and a hint of something earthy and sweet. It’s the same smell that comes in off the north winds that blow down from the mountains. The scent stirs a memory of standing on the North Hold walls with Aidia as children and staring out at the snow-capped trees, wondering what it would be like to run into the forest.
I was so young and danger seemed a faraway thing. My parents’ caution felt excessive, smothering, and more violent than anything I’d seen from outside the walls. That is, until the night the blood mist came,when a horde of the Drained managed to break into Northeast Hold and drain two hundred Lunameade residents dry in mere hours. In a city of tens of thousands of people, that number was small, but it was the most casualties Lunameade had experienced at once since the wall was complete.
My parents brought us to see the dead—as if they could sense the restlessness inside of me and wanted to crush it. I stopped imagining leaving after that—the world narrowed to just Lunameade, and although the city had never felt safe to me, the forest felt far more dangerous. Better the violence you know than whatever lay beyond the tree line. I truly believed that until the first time I saw Aidia’s bruised face.
I fight the urge to rifle through Asher’s things, since he could come in at any moment. There will be plenty of time once my job is done. Instead, I hang my cloak on the hook by the fire and cross the room, smoothing my dress in front of the looking glass next to a small desk. I want to peek at his correspondence, but first, I check the window for an escape route.
I could climb out onto the tree branch there and shimmy down if I need a more discreet escape, though I’ve had enough sparkling wine to make that a less-than-ideal option. Not that I’m particularly concerned about discretion. I have no clue what will happen after tomorrow. I may have a few more days here, but there will no doubt be too many events and expectations on my time for me to easily sneak out. I’ll be married and shipped off to Fallen Hold, or I’ll be shipped off and then married far from friends and family.
The door swings open and I jump at the groan of hinges.
His smile is playful as he bolts the door and tosses his coat on a chair. “Sorry, lovely. Didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Asher seems so sincere—clearly one of the finer actors I’ve had the misfortune to interact with. The dissonance between what I expected him to be and what he is scratches at the back of my mind. I steel myself with the memory of the bruise on my client’s cheek.
“Suddenly at a loss for words?” he asks.
“I didn’t really think I’d need to do much talking,” I say.
Anticipation twists in my stomach as he removes his cufflinks, a smug smile on his face. “A woman who knows what she wants.”
