Page 41 of The Poison Daughter
“Then I guess we’re at a stalemate.” I scoop his glass from the table, dipping my finger into his wine as I hand it to him.
I let a little bit of Slyven Seed poison run into the glass. I probably shouldn’t do this in front of all the magical families in Lunameade, but I can’t help but take this chance to see if he was telling the truth about his protective ring. Using a different poison than I did the first time will tell me if he’s immune to one poison or all of them.
Henry eyes the wine skeptically, so I draw my finger into my mouth, trying to pull back the magic that has turned my fingertip temporarily purple and licking it clean as suggestively as possible.
He takes the cup from me, staring at my lips as he takes a long sip. I watch with rapt interest and a hint of delight.
“What?” he asks as he lowers the glass.
This is the moment of truth. He’s not wearing his ring, which I don’t believe could really protect him from a magical attack.
I stare at him, waiting for him to fall over, but he looks unfazed.
“Really? Nothing?”
Realization tears over his face. “You tried to poison me again?” His voice is low, torn between humor and disbelief.
I roll my eyes. “Relax. It was just a test.”
He looks at my hands like he knows exactly what I did. “You can poison with your?—”
I clap a hand over his mouth. “Keep your voice down. My magic is a well-guarded secret.”
It was stupid of me to take a risk like that. My family doesn’t know that I can poison with my hands, and I’ve suffered greatly to keep that secret. I glance at Able, who is seated on the other side of the table, praying that he didn’t hear Henry, but my oldest brother is deep in conversation with Rafe.
When I turn back, Henry clicks his tongue. “Keeping secrets from everyone, it seems. Do they know about yourhobby?”
“They don’t and they’re not going to. Don’t make me get more creative in my attempts.” I bat my lashes at him. “Can you not appreciate that we have our first mutual secret? I think they call it ‘intimacy.’”
“I call it ‘mutually assured destruction,’” Henry says, holding my gaze as he knocks over his glass. The poison wine spills across the white tablecloth like a bloodstain.
“Oops, how clumsy of me,” he says as a frantic servant comes to wipe it up and bring him a new glass. “I was so distracted by her beauty.”
I scowl at him, and he grins as he takes a long swig of his fresh wine. His gaze darts behind me.
The sludgy press of an aura hits me before I see the burnt orange-brown edges of it in my periphery. Rafe.
I don’t want to listen to him taunt me about how Aidia isn’t here for my big night. I’d rather sit here all night talking to the women of the high houses about wedding planning than give Rafe the satisfaction of upsetting me.
Several couples have taken advantage of the soft string music and are spinning around the ballroom floor. No matter how much I want to leave, no matter how my head starts to throb, I will not show an ounce of disappointment to this man.
My heart slams against my ribs. My rage is hardly leashed, drowning out the soft melody of string music. Forcing my face into apathy, I take a breath and turn.
Rafe’s suit is immaculate, and his golden hair is neatly styled, but still, he looks like he’s performing. No matter how nice his clothes are, hecan’t hide the hungry look in his eyes. The man is made of the kind of envy that will never be sated. How the common people in town don’t see it is beyond me.
“I wanted to offer my congratulations on behalf of North Hold, dear sister-in-law.” There’s a challenge in Rafe’s blue eyes, like he’s daring me to ask about Aidia.
“Thank you for the sincere well wishes. They mean so much to me,” I say with a saccharine smile.
“I was hoping you’d do me the honor of a dance,” Rafe says.
There’s nothing I’d like less, but he’s asked loud enough that I can’t turn him down without it causing offense.
After the briefest moment of hesitation, I place my hand in his and rise to my feet, ignoring the way his touch makes my skin crawl. He intentionally pushes his magic out, the muddy orange-brown of his aura closing in on me. My heart thunders, my mouth dries, and my breathing goes shallow. It’s not exactly a threat, but it’s a flex, and I hate that I’m rattled.
Manipulation blessings from Polm, the Divine of Malice, require the wielder to find a way to get an emotional hold on their victim. I can’t let him get his hooks in me.
He wants a reaction, and I’m trying desperately not to give it to him, but for some reason, my body is not cooperating. I don’t understand the strange panic tearing through me. Rafe’s not bold enough to use his magic on me in front of my family, but this flash of it sets my teeth on edge.
