Page 5 of The Poison Daughter
I smooth my dress. “If I have to be unlucky in love, at least I can look good doing it, right?”
Kellan purses his lips. He knows my late husband’s untimely death was less a lack of luck than an abundance of poison magic at the request of my parents.
I offer Libby a sincere smile. “I’m kidding. Six months in mourning seems to have ruined my social skills, but surely you have better things to worry about than one of your sisters-in-law.”
“Yes, well, I only like one of them,” Libby says, tucking her red hair behind her ear. “And Kel refuses to let me worry about him, no matter how wild the rebels get in town.”
I eye Kellan. “Has it been dangerous of late?”
Before he can answer, a servant places plates of bright orange zucchini blossoms in front of us, and I’m forced from the moment of personal connection into my usual role of playing a part of the untouchable Carrenwell Family.
I try to ignore the fact that I am sitting across from the man I loathe, but Rafe Mattingly’s orange aura is a vortex that pulls on everyone in the room.
Blessings from Polm, the Divine of Malice, tend to feel like that because manipulation magic relies on the wielder’s ability to attach to other people.
My oldest brother, Able, leans a conspiratorial arm on the back of Rafe’s chair and whispers to him. Rafe tips his head back and laughs. That bastard has the audacity to laugh in our house—to bare the long column of his throat like he’s certain no one would try to slit it.
With his dark golden hair falling over his forehead and the laugh lines crinkling around his eyes, it would be easy to mistake him for someone harmless. But if you pay attention, it’s impossible to miss the cunning in his bright blue eyes.
He rests an arm on the empty chair to his left and smiles lazily at Able to his right. That’s what happens when men act up. They don’tget punished. They get rewarded with a place of honor next to the heir.
I could end him so quickly, and his little whisper of magic would do nothing to save him. I could poison his wine, or sneak him into a dark room and press my lips to his, and as sick as that would make me, it would be worth it to trick him into a swift death.
But that’s just a daydream. Rafe managed to wrestle the title of mayor away from my father four years ago. Though it’s a role designed to represent the unblessed, magicless people of Lunameade, my father held it for years, as did every ancestor in his line right up to the founder of the city—until Rafe.
Rafe has managed to convince the unblessed that he understands their plight and wants to make the city more equitable for those who lack magical gifts. It would be a more compelling notion if I didn’t know what a self-serving monster he is.
For now, he is untouchable, but he won’t be forever.
Rafe catches me staring and lifts his glass of wine in a mocking toast. I’ve wished for a long-distance magic—something swift and violent—all my life, but never as much as at this moment. He looks so smug as he licks his lips and savors our expensive wine.
He should be terrified of our family. He has lesser magic, but his ability to charm and persuade is only a glimmer of the magic my parents or eight siblings possess. But Rafe doesn’t even look concerned. He’s busy acting chummy with Able, who returns his attention like they’re the best of friends.
Aidia sneaks in the side door of the dining room, but everyone is too focused on the first course to pay her any mind. She leans against the wall by the window, staring out at the city.
My parents don’t even glance at her. I wish I could say that I’m surprised. While they’re happy to benefit from the loyalty afforded by marrying off their children to lesser magical houses, they don’t like to witness the cost of their ambition.
For a long time, I waited for my mother to show some semblance of guilt. But whenever Aidia shows up with a black eye, our mother suggests she glamour it away. As always, Liza Carrenwell is more concerned about what other people think than her daughter’s pain.
Rafe also ignores Aidia’s colorful presence, pouring himself anotherglass of wine as she finally crosses the dining room and sits down in the chair beside him. Of course, he doesn’t bother to pull it out for her. Instead, he holds my gaze and cracks his knuckles as if to show off the fists that have been beating my sister.
Aidia stills, the futile animal stillness of prey trying to outwit a predator.
My mouth starts to burn. I can feel my lips turning a deep, poisonous purple beneath the bright red stain I applied earlier. It takes all my restraint not to launch myself across the table and drive my steak knife into his throat.
My wrath is incendiary, a swelling, explosive thing that demands action. But a reckless swing at him now won’t help anything. I need to bide my time.
The poison turns my mouth sweet as I sip my wine and glare at his smug grin.
This is how it always is—him getting away with his violence and me waiting for my opportunity to do the same.
I cannot make him sorry, but I can make him suffer. And that will have to be enough.
The shrill tap of a knife against glass startles me from my seething.
My father stands, and a hush comes over the room. “We have some exciting and surprising news. After the many years we believed Mountain Haven to be completely annihilated, we’ve received a communication from them.”
The murmurs of the crowd swell into a frenzy.
