Poison (13 page)

A
RIANA’S WEDDING DRESS
. For her arranged marriage to a man she’d never met and was certain to hate.

Ariana did not want to marry at all.

“Where would
I
be if I hadn’t married, Ariana?” her mother had insisted. “Do you think I could run both the country and the King’s Army? The country needs two rulers. That’s the way it is.”

Ariana argued that she could rule alone with trusted advisers at her side, and that even if she
did
marry, she wanted to choose the man. Anyway, there was absolutely no reason why some stranger should be king just because he was married to her.

But the queen had only shaken her head. “This idea that you might not get married at all? Nonsense. You’re a royal; the land
requires
your marriage. The Nuptial Bond ceremony binds a ruler not only to her partner but to the land itself. A marriage contract is powerful magic, Ariana. It means you belong to someone.”

Exactly what Ariana didn’t want.

Which was why the plaintive letter from Ariana a month before her coming-of-age birthday was such a surprise.

My dearest Kitty,

The end of the world has come: my hand is being taken in marriage—against my will! But not until June. There is still time to make mother see reason. Please hasten to the palace to help me persuade her.

And to celebrate my birthday—possibly my last as a single woman.

I remain

Stubbornly yours,

Ariana

Kyra had dropped everything and rushed to Wexford. The horse couldn’t go fast enough over the ice-covered roads.

When Kyra arrived, she’d found the palace bustling with wedding preparations, even though the wedding itself wasn’t for months. Workmen with ladders and seamstresses carrying large bolts of fabric dashed through the halls in every direction, barely dodging one another.

Kyra ducked off the main halls and into the kitchens.

As soon as she walked through the heavy swinging doors, she was enveloped in the rich scents of simmering stew and cinnamon apples baking. Her stomach growled.

“Kyra!” shouted out the head cook. She wiped her hands on her apron, then reached up to kiss Kyra’s cheeks. “Thank God!”

“It’s nice to see you too, Sofie.” Kyra hugged the cook, one of her favorite people at the castle. Sofie had the red-cheeked, breathless, jovial manner of someone who cooked and ate for a living, but she was rail thin and bony—the skinniest fat person Kyra had ever met. “I got a note from Ari. She sounds desperate.”

“Insufferable, more like.” The cook shook her head. “Haven’t heard howling and carrying on like this since back before, when they locked her up ‘for her health’!
Pfft
.” Sofie blew through her lips. “Kid was so healthy she managed to destroy her entire bedroom. Twice. I think back then the Little Highness just needed to get rid of some extra energy.” Sofie folded her arms over the front of her apron.

“Well, try to see it from Ariana’s perspective,” Kyra said. “It’s like being locked up in her bedroom again, isn’t it? They’re forcing her into something against her will. She’s suffocating.”

“It could be worse,” Sofie said, pushing a tray of the princess’s favorite raspberry-jam cookies into Kyra’s hands. “I hear the prince they chose is from Lantana, and everyone says he’s a nice guy. It could have been Prince Pompous from Lexeter.”

“Prince Pompadou?” Kyra asked as she mounted the servants’ stair. “The one who came sniffing around last spring?”

“Pompadou, Pompous Arse—whatever he goes by.”

Kyra laughed.

What in the world could she do to make things better? She knew how stubborn Ariana could be. It didn’t matter if it was a nice prince or a puffed-up dunderhead—Ariana knew her own mind. Kyra was pretty sure that cookies weren’t going to change it.

Kyra was right to be worried.

She opened the door to find the princess pacing angrily, ripping up a piece of paper and throwing it on the floor. The mass of frizzy hair that had replaced the ringlets of her childhood bounced around Ariana’s face as she stomped back and forth across the room.

Ariana had grown up to become a strong young woman. She was athletic and tough and such crazy-unpredictable fun that the stable boys all vied to be her escort when she went riding. It hurt Kyra to see her like this—angry and disheveled with tear tracks down her cheeks.

“Kitten, you came!” Kyra was swept up in a hug almost before she could set the tray on a small table inside the door. She caught a glimpse of the words
CORDIALLY INVITED
on one of the scraps of paper.

The princess pulled away and sat on her bed with a thump. “This is so awful, Kitty. I swore I would NOT let them do this to me. And somehow they have. My life is over.”

“Ari, it might not be as bad as you think.” This prompted an icy blue-eyed glare, so Kyra quickly added, “Or it might. But, Ari”—Kyra brushed her friend’s hair back over her shoulders and tried for a wry smile—“never forget that your best friend is one of the world’s experts in poison. There’s not a man who can stand in your way. Not for long, anyway.”

Ariana’s cheeks lifted in a smile. “That’s exactly why I wanted you to come.”

“Wait,
what
? You want me to kill this guy?”

Ariana rolled her eyes. “No. Because you can make me laugh even as my life is ending.”

“Well, good. It’s nice to know I’m useful for more than just offing people.” Kyra sat beside her on the bed. “Have you considered that getting married might be sort of fun? I was a bit doubtful at first too, but I’m starting to look forward to it.”

“That’s different. You got to choose who you’re going to marry. If I hear one more time about how important my marriage is for the kingdom, or the words ‘Nuptial Bond,’ I’m going to scream.” The princess’s voice turned small. “What if he’s all proper and everything? I might never get to go outside again. Lots of royal people NEVER leave the castle except a few times a year in a carriage. Kitty, I seriously couldn’t take it.”

“I know, Ari.” Kyra knew how lucky she was to be marrying a man she loved. “We’ll just have to figure out a way—”

“A way for me not to get married?”

Just then, a knock came at the door, and at Ari’s response, in walked two dressmaker’s apprentices. They swept by the girls, curtsying as they went, hung up what they were carrying, and silently departed.

It was a dress, truly one of the most beautiful wedding dresses Kyra had ever seen.

It was obvious that it had been made with love—and with this particular princess in mind. The dress didn’t have a single puffy ornamental bit on it. It was a long and silky green, with a small pinecone clasp holding the material together at one shoulder. Slits were shaped into each side, as though the dressmakers had anticipated the bride’s need to be free and unrestricted, able to run and move easily. The long, flowy shape was a perfect complement to Ariana’s athletic frame.

It was a dress fit for the Goddess of the Hunt, running barefoot in the moonlight.

“I love it,” Kyra said, before she could stop herself.

There was a horrible look on Ariana’s face. She quietly nibbled and swallowed a bite of cookie. “Need tea,” she mumbled.

Kyra’s trip downstairs to the kitchen for a teapot took only moments.

But it was long enough: when she got back to the room the dress had been ripped to shreds.

And now here it was hanging in tatters at Gabrielle’s.

Kyra had always assumed it had been thrown out. Yet Ariana must have brought it here thinking it could be salvaged. Or looking to hide the evidence of her tantrum. Kyra lifted one of the torn bits of silk hanging off the dress and drew a line with the same needle coated in Melt elixir that she’d used on the door. The tightly woven fibers relaxed their grip and unraveled, and the strip of fabric came away.

Destroying the dress? That was just Ariana being Ariana. A tantrum.

No, what had bothered Kyra was what happened in the days that followed. Ariana
changed
. She’d thrown herself into the wedding preparations and avoided Kyra, refusing to talk to her. Eventually, she banished Kyra from her company altogether.

And then, a few weeks later, Kyra was brought to her knees by the second vision she’d ever had in her life.

The princess stood at the top of the castle parapet—newly married, in a hideous pink wedding gown. As she raised her arms, the gown turned a deep burnt charcoal, all of the frills burning off and crumpling to the ground, her blue eyes changing to deepest black. The darkness that was coiled inside of her spread out, cloaking the land in night.

Evergreen trees withered and died, flowers melted, grapes fell from the vine, and a blackness shrouded the buildings of the city so thickly that they cracked under the weight. And then the vision jumbled and leaped ahead to a bleak future: Prison cells filled to bursting, slaves in chains at the Saturday market. Famine sweeping the land, wars raging, and the rivers swelling with the blood of the dying.

Color had left the Kingdom of Mohr, and with it all hope and beauty.

Through the Nuptial Bond—the magical connection that bound Ariana to the land on her wedding day—she would poison the kingdom.

That was why Kyra had to kill her before her wedding.

A
S
K
YRA MADE HER
way to get Rosie from Fred’s hotel through the dark, winding, crowded streets of Wexford, she eavesdropped on the people around her.

They talked nonstop in the way of folks who’ve had too much drink. There were mean jibes about a huge band of magic-working Gypsies who’d been driven out of the city—“Gypsy rabble,” one man called them—and gossip that the Princess Killer was hiding somewhere in the city. “They’re going to turn out every bed in the city to find that murderous scamp!” a woman brayed. And everywhere was talk of the wedding—how it was going to be the biggest celebration the kingdom had seen in decades. “Something so grand it’ll make this festival look like a sparkler on a cupcake.”

So intent was Kyra on listening to the crowd that she wasn’t aware of the Cherry Blossom Princess processional until it was right behind her.

Kyra and everyone else were pushed up against the sides of the street to let the parade pass. They watched in awe.

The floats were beautiful and represented different elements of the holiday—from a giant mock springberry pie, to a bonfire made of shiny colored paper, to a straw-stuffed body that represented the dead King of Winter. The paradegoers held their torches high, flickering light dancing across their faces. Last of all was the Cherry Blossom Princess, with her guard of local boys dressed in solemn uniforms, and the local girl herself all decked out in over-the-top finery like a blossom of springtime.

As Kyra watched them go by, she caught sight of Dartagn just across the road from her. Next to him, like a loyal dog, was Hal. They were talking.

Then Hal’s head came up. And looked right at Kyra.

He stared for a moment, then went back to his discussion with Dartagn.

Kyra’s heart pounded.
I’m wearing a glamour, I’m wearing
a glamour, I’m wearing a glamour.

But she wasn’t going to take any risks. While the captain and Hal were looking away, she joined the parade. She grabbed a torch from an older, plump man. Shock crossed his face, but then he shrugged. The uniformed float-handler beside him nodded to her as she lifted the torch.

At the first alley entrance, Kyra thrust the torch back into the plump man’s hands and elbowed her way through the line of parade watchers. She took the most direct route she could to Fred’s inn.

Once inside the Thorny Rose, Kyra used Release powder on the door to Fred’s room. She’d expected to find him gone but was still relieved the room was empty.

Or nearly so. There on a pillow was the tiny pink pig, all curled up.

Rosie.

Something inside Kyra lit up at the sight of her. She tried to push the feeling away, but it engulfed her and made her eyes sting with unshed tears.

She’d missed the little pig.

Kyra scooped up the sleeping Rosie, anxious to leave as quickly as possible. The room bore signs of Fred everywhere—there was a wedge of cheese sitting out, half the loaf of bread she’d seen him buy earlier, the olive oil from the night of the campfire.

Bad enough that she’d gone all soft at the sight of a pig. Now Kyra’s feelings were threatening to overwhelm her because of a few stupid campfire memories, a ghost of a kiss in the night, and the sensation of invisible arms around her in the soft, misty rain.

It was all more than she could handle. She needed to get out of there.

Something else about the room bothered her too—something intimate about being in Fred’s space when he wasn’t there. Even if it was only a hotel room. She felt like she was violating his trust—taking more away with her than just the pig.

Kyra quickly locked the door and made her way down the hall to the back stairs.

The piece of silk from Ariana’s ruined wedding dress rested in Kyra’s pocket. She’d wait until Rosie woke up to pin it into her basket.

Outside, she slipped through the back gate of the inn, and turned south to avoid the crowds.

And came face-to-face with Hal. Dressed impeccably, as usual, his long rich velvet cloak swirling around him as he moved to block her way.

Her ex-fiancé must have seen her go into the hotel and had been waiting for her. It was only then Kyra realized that her glamour had started to wear off. If one was looking closely, as it was evident Hal had been, you could see both layers—the glamour and the reality of Kyra beneath it. She cursed her own carelessness and palmed a throwing needle with her free hand.

Except, the first words out of Hal’s mouth were so unexpected that Kyra paused.

“You’ve got the necklace,” he said.

The necklace had fallen out of the front of her shirt when Kyra had leaned down to scoop up Rosie. “I do. Why, is the floozy who you meant it for missing it?”

Hal looked hurt, his handsome face wrinkling. “Kyra, I bought it for you.”

Before Kyra could think of a response, Hal quickly moved, and Kyra looked down to discover the tip of a green-glowing poisoned sword at her throat.

“But that was before you became a criminal, my dear. I’m afraid, Kyra, that I can no longer offer you my hand in marriage.”

“I know,”
Kyra said, exasperated. “I’m the one who left you.
First
.”

“I bought the necklace after you moved back to Wexford,” Hal said, ignoring her, the tip of his sword never wavering from her throat. “There was a new stall at the Saturday market, and I thought, maybe…” He reached out as though to touch the cord around her neck with his free hand, but stopped himself. “I was hoping we could get back together again.” He shook his head. “Before I learned who you really are. Now look at you. Stealing a pig. You’ve turned into a common thief.”

“Hal, this is my property.” Kyra gestured to the sleeping pig with her chin. “I’m just collecting it.”

Hal looked her in the eye. “I know why you tried to kill her, Kyra.”

Kyra stared at him, stunned. “You do?” How could he understand? Had she misjudged him?

“Of course.” He ran his free hand through his hair. “You were jealous.”

“Jealous.”
Kyra stamped down the fury that threatened to bubble to the surface. The sword was so close to her neck, even a small movement could prick her and send its poison coursing through her body.

“Of me and Ariana.”

“What?”

“It makes sense when you look at the events.” He counted off on the fingers of his free hand. “One, she and I danced together by candlelight at the Imbolc Festival, which, by the way, everyone does—it didn’t mean anything! Two, you and I fought. Three, right after that, you moved out. And four, a couple weeks later, you’re throwing a poison dart at Ariana.”

Kyra couldn’t believe it. She and Hal had fought because Kyra had been worried about the princess—Ari hadn’t been herself since slashing her wedding dress. It was beyond strange that the princess was suddenly the life of the party—even dancing with Hal, whom she normally detested.

He cocked his head. “And you missed. I didn’t know you EVER missed.”

Kyra glared at him. “I’m aware of that.” The throwing needle she had been about to use moments before was dangling loosely in her hand. “The idea that I would murder my best friend because I was jealous is insane, Hal. Why would I be jealous? Ariana only put up with you because of me. I assured her that even though you sometimes seemed a bit stupid, you were really a brilliant potioner. But now I see that being a brilliant potioner has absolutely nothing to do with whether or not you’re an idiot. Somehow you manage both.”

For a brief moment, Hal looked wounded. “We’ll see if the princess thinks I’m an idiot now that I’ve caught you.”

“Think so?” Kyra darted the Doze-tipped needle underhanded into Hal’s leg, quickly pulling back from his sword as he went down.

Still holding Rosie with one arm, Kyra bent over his sleeping body for the second time in a week. “My putting you to sleep is getting to be a habit,” she muttered. She felt a twinge of regret. He
was
heartbreakingly handsome. And they’d shared a lot. She considered leaving behind the necklace. It didn’t seem right to take it.

But its nighttime glow was too useful.

Kyra felt someone approaching from behind. Turning, she quickly smacked her thighs and blew sleeping potion at the person.

Ned’s round face. Her other ex-colleague sank into unconsciousness.

But not before he’d touched her shoulder.

She looked down and realized what he’d done as the mark glowed briefly red before fading to nothing.

He knew her reflexes, knew she’d turn as quickly as she had, and he’d had the foresight to reach out to touch her even as she was knocking him out.

She was tagged.