She checks the signature. “The contract looks good. Your family will be paid well.”
The Carrenwells are paying this man to die. They anticipated our request, or perhaps they wanted us to see first-hand how well their daughter can defend herself.
The man takes a step forward, looking torn. He’ll die either way now that he knows Harlow’s magic, but he still has to decide not to die a coward.
Harlow closes the distance between them, her eyes flitting to me before settling back on him.
I step closer to watch how the magic works.
Harlow holds her victim’s gaze. “I’ll make it quick.” The whisper is so faint, I’d think I imagined it if the man’s eyes didn’t go wide.
He nods. “I have a wife and daughter. Make sure they’re taken care of?”
Harlow bites her lip. An exhausted resignation settles in her shoulders.
I’m morbidly curious to see how this works, to know if she can control how quickly and painfully her poison kills someone.
She squeezes her eyes closed as she pulls him closer, like she can’t stand to see her reflection in his gaze as the monster she truly is. Her lips go darker, like they did last night. The witness’s gaze drops to her mouth, and he tenses as she leans closer, his body torn between the biological imperative to flee and survive and the inevitability of staying.
Harlow kisses him. It’s quick, platonic. He stumbles back, staring at her. For a moment, he’s relieved. He pants, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face, like he thinks nothing will happen.
Then, the man stumbles back, clutching his throat. He gasps for air, fingers clawing at the skin of his neck, his face going splotchy and his mouth foaming. His knees hit the floor with a loud thump before he crumples to the side.
I watch the man die the death she meant for me.
Harlow looks resigned, grinding her teeth as she’s forced to watch her victim’s veins turn black beneath his pale skin. Her lips are still dark.
I stare at him longer than I need to, to remind myself why I’m here—what’s at stake. To remind myself that no matter how lovely Harlow Carrenwell looks on the outside, she is a murderous woman with a poison mouth.
My parents’ clapping draws me from the spell.
Harlow turns toward them and catches my eye. For the first time, I see a hint of doubt on her face.
It’s a drastic error for her—a weakness I can exploit. She feels guilty—which makes her attempt on my life more curious. It’s a relief to know she’s not as strong and steady as she appears. Her full lips slowly return to a soft gray as her magic recedes.
“What a fascinating power,” my father says.
Liza places a hand on my mother’s shoulder. “Harvain has blessed Harlow greatly. I’m sure you’re wondering what this means for the line of succession, but we’ve made certain that Harlow’s kiss is the only deadly thing about her. She’ll be able to have heirs without issue.”
Harlow’s skin, from her neck to her cheeks, goes dark. She’s blushing—clearly embarrassed that her mother is talking about her sex life so casually.
“Well, that is excellent news. Hopefully one of those heirs will inherit just as impressive a gift,” my mother says, her voice stiff with the effort of not swatting Liza Carrenwell’s hand away.
Harrick clears his throat. “And what of your son? What is his magic?”
“Our Henry is blessed by Elvodeen. He’s a healer,” my mother says.
I hold my breath for half a second, hoping the Carrenwells won’t ask too many questions about my magic.
Harlow studies me with new interest, but Liza looks bored. Harrick frowns, then shakes his head. It’s like he can’t tell whether to be disappointed I don’t have a more brutal power or glad he’s sending his daughter away with a mender.
“It’s a relief to know that Harlow will be in good hands,” he says, a beat too late for it to sound natural.
Harrick draws a dagger from his belt and steps toward Harlow. Her eyes go vacant as he grabs her arm, pushes up her sleeve, and slices into the flawless pale skin of her forearm. A thin line of blood forms and spreads. The scent of it hits me at the same time as her perfume—a mix of copper and Stellarium Blossoms. Magic and years of hunting in the Drained Wood have trained my sense of smell to break down complex scents quickly, but there’s something unique about hers.
I shift. I’ve felt on my heels since I walked into this room. All I can do is stare at the blood rapidly dripping from her arm to pool on the floor. Ishould be horrified that her father cut her without any warning, but I’m more disturbed by the fact that she didn’t even flinch.
She holds her arm out to me, and a hot rage swells in my chest at their presumption. Her father doesn’t even know what kind of mender I am, yet he was willing to gamble that I could fix it quickly.
