Page 118 of The Poison Daughter
He hums. “Yes. I’m sure you’re right. Does her family well give her any relief at all?”
“It doesn’t seem like it.”
We fall into a silence, and he traces his fingers over the white stone mending the wall. Standing on top of the breach, the wall looks stronger than ever. Itisstronger than ever. The stone was mended by one of the most powerful fort families, the Rathens. It took them months of intricate work, and I spent those months guarding them as they used their protection magic from Divine Vardek to fuse the stone back together.
When I asked one of the Rathens how they did it, they said you have to remind the stone—like it’s a living thing—that your will must be stronger than what seems possible.
Every time I look at this mark on the wall, I think of those words.
“Anything else?” my father asks.
The etched lines of the burns on Harlow’s back rise in my mind unbidden. They aren’t random. They’re art. Someone made art out of her pain.
“She has a large and very unusual scar on her lower back that looks like a brand.”
My father rubs a hand over his beard. “How did it make you feel?”
The question is so unexpected that I can’t think of a lie or deflection. “Uneasy. Like I’ve underestimated my opponent.”
“But you’re already in the fight.”
I nod. “And I didn’t wait almost ten years not to finish it.”
“Well, by all accounts and reports we’ve received, no one in Lunameade lays a hand on a Carrenwell without paying for it,” he says. “Which means it was either done by a dead man, or?—”
“A relative,” I finish for him.
The thought fills me with irrational anger. The skin was healed—the scar old and white, as if someone had hand-painted shooting stars there, when really they were branded into her flesh.
“It’s not a bad idea to work that angle and see what you can find.” My father cocks his head and smirks. “Curious how you saw her naked.”
I slowly turn to face him head-on. “She was too buttoned up. I had to give her something if I wanted to get something out of her. I suspected that she’d been ill when she was locked in her room for days.”
My father’s face is a mask of calm. “So you showed her the well?”
I nod.
“And she saw your scars?”
I nod again.
He sighs. “Well, we knew you would probably have to give that up at some point. No way she would see all of those scars and not start asking questions. Better that answer come from you and not someone with loose lips. She can’t know the full story until you’re married.”
I know he’s right. Very few people know the truth, but they know that those of us who were revived are different. Whatever blessing Asher granted us made us baser, more animal. This possessiveness I feel about Harlow is just part of that baser instinct I came back with.
I try not to think about the soft curve of her hips, her full breasts, or the way she groaned when she slipped into the hot water. This would all be easier if I weren’t attracted to her. The inconvenient animal instinct in me wants to drag her into a dark room and make her scream and come for hours, until I’m so deep inside of her that I know there’s nothing she can hide from me.
Rolling out my shoulders, I try to shake the lewd thoughts away. Unfortunately, chasing them off leaves me with only the disquieting feeling that perhaps not all of my desire to protect her is born out of some base animal possessiveness. Some small part of me likes the way she challenges me. It’s both comforting and unnerving that she looks at me with no fear—like she has seen much worse.
I shove the thought from my mind.
My father pats my back. “Don’t worry about the well. We’ve long suspected Harrick knew about the Mountain Well. I imagine it’s why he was willing to sacrifice our people. If the fort fell, he would have yet another secret well.”
I clench my teeth. Harrick Carrenwell’s greed and desire for power knows no bounds.
“And given that we showed up after ten years away with no fear of what he would do, he must assume we have a strong magical community to have survived. We couldn’t do that if we weren’t doing our own well ceremonies and continuing to have new generations blessed with Divine gifts.” My father tugs at the sleeves of his wool coat. “Is Harlow ready for the wedding tomorrow?”
I nod. “She claims she’s read everything I gave her, and by all accounts she’s committed to being respectful and following through on this. I haven’t figured out what she’s getting out of it yet, but it must be something good for her to travel so far from home and risk her life to ruin mine.”
