A Kiss of Venom (An Araneae Nation Novella) (4 page)

At least, if anyone asked me, that made for a handy excuse.
Business crawled in the nest during this time of year, or it had back in my day. The busiest times were in the brief summer, when warmer temperatures lured traders into the city. The rest of the year there was only minor trade among what guests dared to visit and the clan families. The hall was more of a showcase than a hub of commerce.

Still, all artisans enjoyed having their egos stroked by admirers. The day after such a prestigious event, when goodwill toward the ruling family would be high
est, I bet Armand was already purring.

With one last glance at the mirror, I set out to test my memory of all the private tunnels Armand had been so kind as to show me before Lourdes had discovered us. That was the most glorious thing about touring such an expansive nest, the hundreds of identical tunnels and seemingly infinite rooms.

I smiled. If I was caught, it would be so easy to claim I had gotten lost.

Despite the previous night’s festivities, the nest crawled with Araneidae eager for ears to bend in discussion of their favorite gifts presented to their maven and paladin.

I noticed a handful of my fellow guests. They were easy to identify since they wore clan colors that clashed with the gold the Araneidae wore. In the old days, after such an event, the tunnels teemed with foreign guests. Between the plague and the tragic deaths of the previous ruling pair, they appeared to be entertaining in smaller numbers than they once would have.

Through
the bustling heart of the nest I strode until the hall grew quiet and people dwindled.

After a while I was alone, and I breathed easy for the first time since arriving in Erania.

The tunnel gradually narrowed. Its ceiling lowered. Gilded accents shone through a patina of years. This was part of the original tunnel, its innermost network, but it had weathered aging well. Through an archway I spotted the faded painting Armand once took pains to show me. I ran a finger along the underside of its frame until I felt a depression in the wood. I pushed, releasing a clasp that swung the portrait outward, revealing a lever. Exhaling, I wrapped my hand around the pull and gave it a gentle tug until I heard the sound of a seal popping. I glanced over my shoulder and watched the wall opposite me glide to the right and open into the blackness of an unlit tunnel. Once I reset the lever, I snapped the picture into place, bolting for the dark as the mechanism hit its apex and began closing.

The panel slid shut on my heels.

Hands to the walls, I followed the once-familiar path into the ruling family’s private living area. I had used one of the escape ports to enter. I believed there was a formal door farther down the hall. If there was, I had never been shown it. Armand had sneaked me into his room, not given me the tour.

The best part
of this tunnel, besides the ease of access, was the peepholes. By the time I reached a dead end, I was certain I was alone. No guards lined this private hall. They all trailed their masters.

A
ccording to Lourdes, Armand was hawking his wares while she and Rhys accompanied Maisy to the stables. Henri, the middle brother, kept to his lab. He even slept there rather than in his formal room. Channing was the youngest. At his age, I bet he spent his days with his nurse or his peers.

That meant the only sibling I was in danger of crossing was the one I had come for, the one
who I had yet to see, which made me all the more curious about what had twisted the joyous girl I recalled into a murderer.

What could have turned her heart against the parents she had loved so dearly? Against her family? A girl in her position had wealth and status. Had she acquired darker ambitions as well?

I had no way to know, no one to ask, and I couldn’t let it matter. Pity could not sway me.

Through another sliding door, I entered
the most restricted area inside the nest.

Padd
ing down the hall, I passed a door and smelled cologne. Faint. Warm. Familiar.

I touched the knob leading to Armand’s
suite, compelled to glimpse his rooms…his bed.

Snatching my hand away, I forced myself to bypass temptation. Three doors down, I found what I had been looking for. This knob I turned without hesitation. Knocking was too much sound for this quiet space. Opening the door slowly, I
spied poor omens.

The bed was made, the room tidy, though it was neither of those things that gave me pause. It was the very faint dust covering items such as
a hairbrush, a perfume bottle, items that should have been used hours ago. The air had gone stale like the shop I had visited. Inspection of the closet proved nothing. It was stuffed to bursting with garments. If there were clothes missing, it would take a keener eye than mine to spot them. The entire room held an air of expectation, as if its owner might return and give it life at a moment’s notice. That absence of her essence confirmed my suspicions.

Pascale of the Araneidae, the maven’s sister, my mark, the female whose death ensured Maisy’s life, wasn’t here.
By the look of things, she hadn’t been in some time.

My ears started ringing and the room spun until I braced a palm against the wall.

Just because Pascale wasn’t in her room didn’t mean she wasn’t in the nest. I could still do my job. I could still save my daughter. I just had to be smart about this. Pascale wasn’t here so…

H
olding cell it is, then
. Checking her rooms was simple. I wanted the slight possibility she was being held there eliminated first. Now came the hard parts, locating the cells and checking them.

C
onvicted criminals were beheaded by the mercenary guards or left outside the city’s walls to freeze.

Both options were harsh. Even
though Pascale had helped kill her parents, I doubt either had been her fate.

Tempted as I was to rifle through her things for clues, I had a better source of information, and the sooner I cornered him, the sooner I could persuade him to tell me what had happened to Pascale.

Quick as I could, I made my way back to the heart of the nest, following the browsers, taking in the sights, searching every vendor’s face for Armand. Voices pitched low in conversation lured me to the stall where the bodies were packed tightest. Over coifed heads and bared shoulders, I glimpsed him. All his customers were female, each lovelier than the last, each tittering behind their hands, and that burning in my gut?

It was not jealousy.

It was irritation.

Keen annoyance even.

Times had definitely changed. Araneidae females packed the hall. I could barely breathe for the perfume. Wedging myself between Armand’s eager admirers, I pried my way to the head of the crowd gathered outside his stall.

I found him sitting behind a table strewn with bits of precious stones and spools of gold thread. His head was bent, his brow furrowed and lips pressed tight.
Lost in his work, he appeared oblivious to the chattering females at my elbows.

I was drawn a step forward, curious as to what had so completely absorbed his attention.

“The shop is closed today,” said the female beside me.

Sure enough, a sign had been
stuck to the front of the glass case displaying his jewelry.

“I don’t understand.” I frowned. “If the shop is closed, then why are you all here?”

“We didn’t know until a few moments ago. He rarely opens until the afternoon, but I heard from a friend he’s been in there all morning.” She bent her head close to mine. “Bethesda said he told her it was a special commission, but we all know he doesn’t take those. I can’t imagine who it’s for. He has been unattached for some time now. It’s been the cause of much speculation.”

“I can imagine.”
I tilted my head. “Did you come looking for something specific?”

“Yes.” She bit her lip in Armand’s direction. “I did.”

One last glance around this spectacle decided for me.

“I suppose I’ll have to come back another time.” I patted her arm. “Enjoy your day.”

I spun on my heel and headed for the exit. I had seen enough. More than enough. Was this what Lourdes had wanted to show me? Was that why she was so insistent I visit him? He had a line of females waiting for him to notice them. What did it matter if I was at the head of it?

“Nicolette.”

I cringed as Armand’s voice echoed through the suddenly quiet hall.

“Wait.”

As I slowed my steps, I became aware that every female’s attention was now firmly centered on me. The one standing nearest me pursed her lips so hard her rosy mouth puckered like a suckerfish.

Armand took my hand and brought it to his lips. “Lourdes said you might stop by.”

I slid my fingers from his grasp. “You closed your shop on the off chance I might come?”

It wasn’t as if he couldn’t afford to indulge in a day off, but that he dismissed his adoring customers without comment surprised me.

“You said yourself you won’t be here long, so I have to make the most of every opportunity.”

“I don’t want to pull you away from your work.” Or attract even more attention to myself.

“The thing about work is that it’s always there.” He grinned. “Close your eyes.”

“I don’t think that’s
—”

He pressed a finger to my lips. “Humor me.”

My skin stung from the daggered gazes the females flung at me, but I did as he asked.

A collective gasp rose around us. My eyes popped open
as Armand reached behind my neck.

I grasped his forearms, digging my fingernails into his shirt. “What are you doing?”

I was seconds from locking my grip and tossing him onto the ground, but our audience made me hesitate.

“You shouldn’t have peeked,” he chastised as a cool weight hit
my skin.

When his arm lowered, a weight hung around my neck. It was an oval made of lapis with thin bands of oranges, yellows, blues, reds and greens. The setting, to no one’s surprise, was gold. The chain, though, was pearlescent and strung with flattened gold beads.

He tapped the stone with his pointer. “It suits you.”

“Is that what I think it is?” The string was his silk—Araneidae silk—and I couldn’t afford it.

“If I say it is, you won’t accept the gift.” He traced the chain across my collarbone. “If I say that it isn’t, then our relationship will be founded on a lie. Those have a habit of corroding everything built upon them. Keep the necklace. Lapis suits you.” His smile heated. “No one else could do it justice.”

I unfastened the clasp. “We don’t have a relationship.”

“I beg to differ.” He caught the necklace when I tossed it. “Friendship is a sort of relationship.”

I cocked an eyebrow.
“Who said we were friends?”

Armand
shoved the pendant into his pocket. “I brought you breakfast in bed.”

“I wasn’t in bed
,” I reminded him.

“No, you weren’t, and I wa
s very disappointed.”

“You kn
ew my sister was in my room.” I frowned. “What did you hope to accomplish?”

“In the interest of self-preservation, I’ll keep those plans t
o myself.” He added, “For now.”

“Ah. I see.” I
gestured to our surroundings. “Care to talk somewhere more private?”

He gestured back the way I had come. “I thought you’d never ask.”

We exited to much grumbling from Armand’s gawkers. A female near the end of his line waited until I was almost beside her before dropping a basket of fruit on my foot and causing me to stumble.

Armand slammed into me, and we tumbled
against the wall to catch our balance.

My back was flush to the tunnel, and Armand’s weight kept me pinned there.

“Oh dear,” the female cried. “Are you both all right?”

I
glared into her smug little eyes and shoved at Armand.

Whatever she saw in my face sent her scurrying off without her basket or her fruit.

He ignored her
and leaned into me. “I’m feeling better all the time.”

“You can move
.” I pushed his chest again. “We’re in no danger of falling now.”

His eyes were locked on my mouth. “Speak for yourself.”

I tensed when his head lowered. “This isn’t happening.”

He nuzzled my cheek. “I assure you it is.”

Breathless, I gasped when his teeth slid over my jaw. He was too close, his touch too familiar.

I had to break his spell.
I blinked dazedly up at him.

Drawing back, he cupped my face in his hands. “Did you hit your head when we fell?”

I touched the side of my head. “Yes?”

“Gods damn it all. We lost our physician several months
ago. My brother Henri is seeing to the needs of the nest in the meantime. If you’re willing to be seen by a herbologist, I can take you to—”