The Poison Daughter

1. Harlow

HARLOW

T he Drained are at the city gates again. I can’t hear their claws scraping the metal bars or see their ghastly pale faces, but the distant bells ring loud enough to warn the citizens of Lunameade to take shelter.

It’s disconcerting that the Drained are out so soon after sunset. While the sun doesn’t hurt them, they usually prefer to wait until the deepest part of the night to come looking for blood.

I lean farther out the manor window, squinting into the night to spot any breaks in the blue holy fire that covers the top of the city walls, straining to listen to figure out which gate they’re storming.

They come to South Hold most often, so I’m used to hearing the havoc in my backyard along with the low-pitched ring of the bell at the South Gate. But tonight, they’re farther west—Southwest Hold, from the sound of the slightly higher-pitched vibration.

Lunameade was designed for siege. Everyone in the city lives and dies by the pattern of those bells.

The solid, steady signal clang means the bloodthirsty are at the gates.

It’s the first in a series of signals to indicate how serious the attack is.

Two clangs in a row would indicate a breach, signaling that every civilian in that quadrant of the city should fall back to the first set of safety doors.

Three would signal that the safety doors are breached and they must fall back to the second set of safety doors.

One loud clang and then the warning bells go silent. I wait.

The first survival skill we learn is how to run. The second is how to listen. These bell patterns are burned into the brains of everyone in Lunameade because knowing the slightest variance could be the difference between life and death.

The rapid, high-pitched tinkling of the safety bells sounds.

I blow out a breath of relief. The threat has been dealt with—for the third time this week. The city is safe, or at least safer. For now.

Most people won’t wander tonight. They’ll stay tucked in their homes, unless, of course, they’re my family members, or any of the other high magical houses forced to attend this wretched dinner.

I grab my flask and dash out into the hallway. I don’t want to be late, but I also don’t want to be there any longer than I have to be. I take a swig from the flask and pause at the end of the long hallway.

Alcohol normally blunts the sharp edges of my moods, but tonight the burn of booze in my chest does little more than send my already fluttering heart into a more frenzied rhythm. I tuck the flask into a large plant next to the hall table and stare at my reflection, giving my pale cheeks a pinch.

“That’s as good as it’s going to get. Pinch all you like. You’ll never be quite as lovely as your older sister.”

I jump, my breath catching in my chest as I turn and behold Aidia.

“Nonsense,” I say. “I look just like you.”

She stands so that half her body is shadowed by the corner of the wall that leads to the back stairwell, the rest in chandelier light that cascades over her left cheek and shines on her sleek black hair.

The relief and joy of seeing her for the first time in a month is dampened by the fact that she won’t turn toward the light so I can see her full face.

She’s always hiding it from me. Ever since our parents married her off to that monster. Ever since the beatings started.

“I didn’t know you would be here,” I say, finally regaining my senses.

“Mother insisted this was an all-hands-on-deck dinner. Couldn’t do it without all her children.

” Aidia waves her hand down the hallway toward the sound of glass clinking so casually—like she hasn’t been sequestered to North Hold for the past year—like her husband has allowed her to attend more than a handful of events.

The chandeliers cast an elaborate mandala of light on the dark wood floor, and Aidia traces the pattern with the silk toe of her shoe.

“Any chance you know what this unscheduled dinner is about?” I ask. “I’ve enjoyed getting to avoid so many of them lately.”

“Ah, yes, on account of your broken heart.”

I fake a pout. “I can’t believe you would doubt how much I miss my beloved…”

Aidia’s lips twitch into a smirk at my long pause. “Marc.”

I snap. “Marc! It was on the tip of my tongue. I’m so bereft I nearly forgot his name.”

“May the Divine Asher deliver his soul safely beyond the veil,” Aidia says sarcastically.

“As long as he’s delivered far from me,” I counter.

Aidia glances down the hallway again, and I know she’s dreading this performance as much as I am. It’s the burden of being a Carrenwell.

Part of the reason our family stays in power is because we act as a unit.

We only display magic when we’re all together, so it’s impossible for anyone to tell who is doing what.

My father will not abide someone spotting our weaknesses.

I used to think my parents were paranoid, but the sheer number of attempts on our lives over the last few years has made it clear that their fears are warranted.

“Can’t you do something to make me look less exhausted?” I ask, looking in the hall mirror again.

Dark circles shadow my eyes, making my irises look even more violet than they already are. I push my bottom lip into a pout as I turn to glance at Aidia. The baby-sister face usually works on her, but today, she frowns.

“You know I can’t.” Her half-shadowed expression looks almost like concern. There’s something unspoken in her eyes that turns my stomach.

I swallow hard. “Aidy, step into the light.”

“You can’t confront Rafe. It will only make it worse,” she whispers.

Aidia’s magic is weaving glamour, not mind-reading, but there are times when her foresight makes me wonder. She has an uncanny ability to read my emotions the way a huntsman can read the forest, a deep intuitive knowing that senses an unnatural shift with ease.

“Step into the light and let me see you, and I swear I’ll be on my best behavior,” I say.

She steps forward, confirming what I already knew. A mottled bruise colors her right cheekbone. It’s a regular occurrence, but every time I see her hurt, it robs me of breath.

Despite my parents’ careful rules and meticulous planning to have their children almost exactly two years apart, Aidia and I broke the mold with only eleven months between us.

Maybe that’s the reason we’ve always been so close, but at times it feels like all the Carrenwell ambition was spent on our older siblings and none was left for us.

Of course, I have long suspected that they never planned for a ninth.

I think they wanted to stop at eight children—one to marry into each gatehouse family to secure Carrenwell control in every powerful magic household.

Aidia has always felt like a mirror for me—like part of my heart living outside my body. It doesn’t matter that she’s older. It doesn’t matter that she can take care of herself. She’s my sister, and when someone puts their hands on her, I want to kill them in the slowest, most painful way possible.

“I know you’re worried, but you don’t need to be,” Aidia says. “I’ve always been able to take care of myself.”

Something about those words rings false. Unpleasant memories scratch at the back of my mind, but I don’t want to go to that dark place before this dinner.

“You’ve always had a big mouth that gets you in trouble,” I counter.

She shrugs a shoulder.

I lower my voice. “Aidy, no one would know. I would make it look like an accident. I could just?—”

She holds up a hand to brace against my concern as she has so many times before. As if she would allow me to live with a monster. As if she wouldn’t be the first in line to claw his eyes out if I showed up with a black eye or angry fingerprints pressed into my pale neck.

Panic swells in my chest, threatening to cut off all my oxygen. My heartbeat crescendos in my ears and I run a hand down the silk of my dress. This is smooth, soft. My dress is red.

I’ve done this same exercise so many times, trying to remind myself that I’m safe. My body cannot always tell the difference when my mind tries to drag me into the memories of when I wasn’t.

When I meet Aidia’s gaze, there’s a crease in her brow. “Say it,” she whispers.

I press a clammy hand to my breastbone. “My heart.”

She mimics my pose. “My bones.”

“Our blood,” we say together.

Weakness is a punishable offense in our family. We can never outright say when we’re struggling. So those words have been our secret check-in with each other for years. Those words say, You’re never alone in your pain .

I turn to the mirror and press my hands to my cheeks.

“If you’re really worried about how you look, you can always use your pendant,” Aidia says.

Running my fingers over the star pendant imbued with her magic, I turn to face her. “That would be a waste.”

She rolls her eyes. “Of course. You need to save it for your secret missions .”

Aidia doesn’t approve of my double life, not because she doesn’t like to see men put in their place, but because she worries about my safety.

“It only has limited uses. I don’t like to waste your gift,” I say.

“What will you do when it runs out?” she asks.

I don’t like to think about that. It has at least another month of uses. Replenishing it is a problem for future Harlow.

Her violet eyes light up and she grins. “I like to imagine you’ll resort to disguising yourself with a fake mustache and wig.”

“Either way, there’s nothing to be done for my dark circles now, but I thought you’d glamour—” I wave at my eye.

“Why should I fade it? So everyone else can feel comfortable?” She laughs bitterly. “If our parents are happy to abandon me with that monster, the least they can do is look at the damage. Everyone else stares at us no matter what. May as well give them a show.”