Page 50 of The Poison Daughter
“He’s just a job, Bea. Like you with this bar.”
Her grin grows wider. “Yes, but the difference is when this bar fucks me, it’s metaphorical. That’s not the case with your mountain man.”
I purse my lips. “Jealous?”
She shakes her head and smirks. “It’s different when you love someone.”
“I wouldn’t know, but that’s hardly a concern here.”
She pauses her scrubbing and sets the rag down. “Are you nervous?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
I knock back half of my beer and burp in the least ladylike way possible. “I’mcautious. I’ve never even left the city gates, and while that’s terrifying, it’s also almost…a relief.”
I see the recognition in Bea’s eyes. She knows what it is to be trapped here, to feel that the same walls that keep you safe also cage you in.
The itch to leave is ever-present. Each time it grows too large to contain, I stand on the top of the South Hold guard towers and stare down into the Drained Wood. I think of the gray-skinned, clawed creatures lurking in the dark. I think of their black-hole auras. I imagine fighting my way through the woods.
But I can’t imagine anything beyond.
The concept of escape is too abstract. I’ve heard stories from travelers and tradesmen, but none of it feels more real than the threat of death outside of our city walls.
Beyond the woods might as well be the edge of the world. An adventurous few people have come to visit Lunameade, but the natives don’t leave.
The bar lights go out and the whole crowd groans in unison. The fiddlers play on, but the dancing stops. The fire is bright enough that people aren’t crashing into each other, but not enough that they feel comfortable with such a frenzied dance.
Bea pulls fresh candles from beneath the counter. “As if it doesn’t happen multiple times a week.”
The rolling blackouts are normal, considering how cloudy it gets this time of year, but after an uncommonly sunny fall, people have become accustomed to the ease of sunstone lighting.
It’s not a perfect system, but the Bennetts of East Hold have a blessing from Divine Stellaria that allows them to store light in sunstone. They’ve built a network of it through the city to provide residents with light. It’s a limited resource, and priority goes to the gatehouses—which is just another way of saying it goes to the powerful.
For that reason, every household in the city is supplied with a monthly stipend of beeswax candles. After the attack on Fallen Hold, the wagons of supplies from the outside world slowed and then ground to a halt as the drained population made the woods unsurvivable. TheCrookes, a family of beekeepers, sprang into action, teaching people how to keep hives. Most households with gardens also keep bees, and my family supplements the rest by hiring unblessed citizens to keep the hives along the walls of the city.
Guardian’s Crossing has several hives on its rooftop garden, and Bea has used the honey to make her signature Sweet Bea’s Wildflower Honey Ale every spring. The brew is so coveted that people line up around the block on the night of release. Bea once hinted that the brew paid for a year of maintenance and stock in just one month. She makes enough for three months because she’s smart enough to know that there’s no better way to charge a premium in this city than to market something as exclusive.
Bea lights several jarred candles, and I help a waitress pass them around the room. A moment later, the revelers are back to their dancing and the blustering cacophony of sounds resumes as if nothing happened.
I bend over the counter and hold out my ale to be topped off.
Bea takes it and fills it to the brim. She leans in close. “When you leave for Fallen Hold and the killing stops, that brother of yours is going to finally figure out who you are.”
I rub the bridge of my nose. “I know. I’ve been trying to come up with something.”
“And?” Bea looks so hopeful.
I twist my mug around on the bar top, drawing a finger through the beer pooling on the wood.
“Josie wants to help,” Bea says, her voice cautious.
I swallow my shock. “Absolutely not.”
“Just listen,” she says, raising her voice as much as she dares. “We don’t need to do much. You’ll be gone for, what? A couple weeks for the wedding? But I imagine you’ll be back for Dark Star Festival. We’ll continue doing intake. And we’ll take on a job or two.”
I hold up a hand. “I’m touched that you want to help, but you’re already more involved than I’d like. It’s too dangerous.”
