Page 86 of The Poison Daughter
This kind of doting makes her feel useful, but I wish she would relaxfrom time to time. If she’s not careful, she’s going to worry herself into an early grave. Holly’s death cost all of us a lot, but my mother is an integral piece of the puzzle that has kept us in power and kept the fort together after the attack. In her own grief, she pulled us all back from the brink, and she’s helped to steady tempers in the ten years since.
But I see how the burden has robbed her of vitality. Her appearance is impeccable—her dark hair in a neat twist, her dress immaculate with not a wrinkle in sight. But in the lines growing deeper around her eyes, I see how much she’s paid to ensure that I will be heir. Not out of some hunger for power, but out of a desire to be a steady hand that curbs the baser instincts of our people. If the wrong person were to rise to power here, the fort could very easily be plunged into chaos again.
I sit down in the chair across from them and pour myself tea.
“So?” my father asks.
I take a long sip, trying to decide what to say. “She’s very curious. She was casing the armory like she was planning a grand offensive on the Drained.”
My father grimaces. “Yes, it was an interesting choice beginning your tour there.”
“I thought it would lull her into a sense of security,” I say. “She’s certain we have something dreadful planned for her. I can’t expect her to open up unless she feels like she has nothing to fear. I thought this would be an effective way to make her feel at home.”
My mother wrings her hands. “We have held our people off this long with the promise of blood. They are expecting results, and without context, it looks like we’re welcoming the Carrenwells back into our home. The clock has started now, and your father and I don’t know how much time you’ll have before their frustration boils over into something violent.”
“I know, Mom. Don’t worry.”
My mother hums, her eyes boring into me. “She’s smart. I can tell. You can see it in her eyes.”
I know what she means. Harlow has a look about her—a hunger that I find startlingly familiar and appealing.
“Practiced with a blade, too,” my father says. “How did she manage to hold her own in the woods against that horde?”
“She can see them coming,” I say.
My father’s brows shoot up. “Even in the blood mist?”
I nod. “She closes her eyes and she says they’re like blank spots—black-hole auras. She directed me which way they were coming from and she waited until the last minute to open her eyes and fight.”
“How much training do you think she’s had?” my mother asks.
“A lot. She was unpracticed, but her instincts were good and she was fairly calm during the attack. If she hadn’t been, we would have been swarmed.”
My father rubs his chin. “Curious.”
“Have you learned anything of value?”
I hesitate. What she hinted at—killing to right wrongs in her community—makes sense, but I also can’t exactly explain to my parents about her murderous hobby without explaining how I know about it in the first place. They’re too good at picking up my lies to fall for one now. I also don’t completely understand her motivation for doing it or how she selects her victims to answer their questions.
“She’s very guarded, but I think I can get her to open up a bit as she settles in more,” I say.
My father nods curtly. “Good. Will you be joining hunt night?”
“Of course,” I say.
“And Harlow knows to stay in her room?” my mother asks. “It would be quite a culture shock for her on her first night here.”
“Yes. I’ll make sure of it.” I know immediately that my tone is too strained for that to be believable.
My parents look at each other and some silent conversation passes between them.
Finally, my father turns to me. “That woman is smart. Don’t let her figure out too much too soon. Carrenwells are crafty. Harlow didn’t grow up in that house without picking up some of their tricks.”
If he only knew how many. “I have it under control.”
He grips the arms of his chair and sits up straighter. “You think I didn’t think the same? That I didn’t see that family and all their children and their fierce commitment to protecting the city? That I didn’t look into Harrick’s face while he lied through his Divine-damned teeth?”
My mother clicks her tongue, presses a palm to her chest, and bows her head in apology for my father’s profanity. She has always been more devout than all of us. Perhaps it’s her blessing from Asher, or the way shedrew and drew on the well of her magic just after the attack and it somehow never went dry. I wasn’t there to see the miracle, only the aftermath, but perhaps if I had seen it, I would be a believer too.
