Page 232 of The Poison Daughter
She turns away from me, looking into the mirror as she smooths her dress. “I need you to accuse Rafe of being the one who orchestrated the Drained attack that brought down Mountain Haven. I need you to say it was his manipulation magic from Polm that turned the Drained from the city and sent them to the fort.”
The words are so stunningly untrue that it takes a moment for them to register. Just when I thought that she could not surprise me any more, she drops something so explosive, I almost lose my composure entirely.
“You want me to lie to all of your people, to cast blame on Rafe?”
She stares at me expressionlessly. “Yes.”
I am almost shaking with anger. “When I know it was your parents.”
She crosses her arms. “I don’t know that. I suspect, but I don’tknow. But as much as you will loathe saying it, this is necessary. I told you that there would be a cost to your lie. A lie for a lie seems an equal bargain.”
Rage boils through my blood, but Harlow looks through me, her lips tipped into an amused smirk as she observes whatever my aura is doing in response to this request. Her assessment is sobering. I need to control myself. This is a critical moment where I’m going to need her trust. If I slip up, she will pull away more and I won’t be able to reach her.
“This is not just a lie, Harlow. This is a betrayal of my people—of my sister’s memory.”
“Would the greater crime not be that man in charge?” she counters. “Don’t grow a conscience now. Don’t insult me by acting like our marriage is about anything other than revenge. Not after literally living off of me. This isn’t a request. This is an exchange. You can respect me enough to hold up your end of this deal or you can get out and I’ll find a way to do this without you.”
“I can’t betray Holly’s memory with a lie about who killed her. How could you ask that of me?”
She points toward the door, her eyes narrowing. “Because it’s necessary. Because vengeance isn’t neat or tidy. It requires doing ugly things. You love to play the part of a monster, but you don’t have the guts to do the dirty work. You are involved in your cause, but you aren’t committed.”
How dare she doubt me? How dare she think that I haven’t suffered for this?
“What the fuck are you talking about? I have spentten yearscommitted to this. I have died repeatedly to make myself into an indestructible force, all for vengeance for my sister.”
Harlow barks out a bitter laugh. “You’ve made yourself into an indestructible force foryou—to assuage your guilt. But you can’t bring Holly back with your suffering.”
The words are a gut punch. I can’t breathe, but Harlow is not finished.
“Lots of people want to be involved,” she says. “They want to look like a hero, claim the daughter of their enemy, literally suck the life out of her. But being committed means surrendering your ego to do whatever is necessary. You of all people should know there is no dignity in revenge. There is only what you are willing to do and what you can’t stomach. You are involved, but you’re not committed.”
“I am,” I say.
She holds up a hand to stop me. “You’re not. You can claim you have put in your decade of loathing—that you’ve died and returned repeatedly so that you can avenge your sister—but if you can’t sacrifice your ego to tell a temporary lie, you’re not as committed as you think.”
I want to argue with her, but I know she’s right. What is one lie compared to the satisfaction of taking her father out?
She takes a tremulous breath, her body vibrating with rage. “I’ve lied to hide my parents’ sins. I’ve married and fucked and killed for them, because that was the price to keep doing this work when I couldn’t get my sister out. I’ve stood between the women of this city and their abusers. I have risked life and limb and I’ve been hurt to keep them safe. Because it’s not enough to be guarded from men, just like it’s not enough to avenge myself against their violence. I have ingested it, sucked it from their marrow. I’ve become the monster. Because it’s not an appeal to their empathy that will make men fall in line. It’s the fear that they aren’t the most dangerous thing walking these streets.”
Harlow glares at me, eyes wild with menace, chest heaving with breathtaking anger. I have never been more attracted to a woman in my life.
She pokes me hard in the chest. “You made a vow. Now follow through or learn to dread me with the rest of them.”
Harlow is undeniable. Her conviction is an arrow shot through the center of me.
Her tongue darts out to lick her lips. I track the movement, shifting to try to ease the strain of my cock hardening in these fitted dress pants.
“How much time do we have?” I ask.
Her eyes snap up to meet mine. “A half-hour. Why?”
I bring my hand up to her neck and force her to look up at me. “Because you seem tense.”
“Don’t give me that look. I’m not interested in getting fucked by you twice in one day,” she says, but her heartbeat kicks up.
I can’t help but laugh. “How about just once?”
The furrow in her brow softens. “Not unless you swear you’ll do what I’ve asked.”
