1. Harlow #3
Before he can answer, a servant places plates of bright orange zucchini blossoms in front of us, and I’m forced from the moment of personal connection into my usual role of playing a part of the untouchable Carrenwell Family.
I try to ignore the fact that I am sitting across from the man I loathe, but Rafe Mattingly’s orange aura is a vortex that pulls on everyone in the room.
Blessings from Polm, the Divine of Malice, tend to feel like that because manipulation magic relies on the wielder’s ability to attach to other people.
My oldest brother, Able, leans a conspiratorial arm on the back of Rafe’s chair and whispers to him. Rafe tips his head back and laughs. That bastard has the audacity to laugh in our house—to bare the long column of his throat like he’s certain no one would try to slit it.
With his dark golden hair falling over his forehead and the laugh lines crinkling around his eyes, it would be easy to mistake him for someone harmless. But if you pay attention, it’s impossible to miss the cunning in his bright blue eyes.
He rests an arm on the empty chair to his left and smiles lazily at Able to his right. That’s what happens when men act up. They don’t get punished. They get rewarded with a place of honor next to the heir.
I could end him so quickly, and his little whisper of magic would do nothing to save him. I could poison his wine, or sneak him into a dark room and press my lips to his, and as sick as that would make me, it would be worth it to trick him into a swift death.
But that’s just a daydream. Rafe managed to wrestle the title of mayor away from my father four years ago.
Though it’s a role designed to represent the unblessed, magicless people of Lunameade, my father held it for years, as did every ancestor in his line right up to the founder of the city—until Rafe.
Rafe has managed to convince the unblessed that he understands their plight and wants to make the city more equitable for those who lack magical gifts. It would be a more compelling notion if I didn’t know what a self-serving monster he is.
For now, he is untouchable, but he won’t be forever.
Rafe catches me staring and lifts his glass of wine in a mocking toast. I’ve wished for a long-distance magic—something swift and violent—all my life, but never as much as at this moment. He looks so smug as he licks his lips and savors our expensive wine.
He should be terrified of our family. He has lesser magic, but his ability to charm and persuade is only a glimmer of the magic my parents or eight siblings possess. But Rafe doesn’t even look concerned. He’s busy acting chummy with Able, who returns his attention like they’re the best of friends.
Aidia sneaks in the side door of the dining room, but everyone is too focused on the first course to pay her any mind. She leans against the wall by the window, staring out at the city.
My parents don’t even glance at her. I wish I could say that I’m surprised. While they’re happy to benefit from the loyalty afforded by marrying off their children to lesser magical houses, they don’t like to witness the cost of their ambition.
For a long time, I waited for my mother to show some semblance of guilt. But whenever Aidia shows up with a black eye, our mother suggests she glamour it away. As always, Liza Carrenwell is more concerned about what other people think than her daughter’s pain.
Rafe also ignores Aidia’s colorful presence, pouring himself another glass of wine as she finally crosses the dining room and sits down in the chair beside him.
Of course, he doesn’t bother to pull it out for her.
Instead, he holds my gaze and cracks his knuckles as if to show off the fists that have been beating my sister.
Aidia stills, the futile animal stillness of prey trying to outwit a predator.
My mouth starts to burn. I can feel my lips turning a deep, poisonous purple beneath the bright red stain I applied earlier. It takes all my restraint not to launch myself across the table and drive my steak knife into his throat.
My wrath is incendiary, a swelling, explosive thing that demands action. But a reckless swing at him now won’t help anything. I need to bide my time.
The poison turns my mouth sweet as I sip my wine and glare at his smug grin.
This is how it always is—him getting away with his violence and me waiting for my opportunity to do the same.
I cannot make him sorry, but I can make him suffer. And that will have to be enough.
The shrill tap of a knife against glass startles me from my seething.
My father stands, and a hush comes over the room. “We have some exciting and surprising news. After the many years we believed Mountain Haven to be completely annihilated, we’ve received a communication from them.”
The murmurs of the crowd swell into a frenzy.
I can feel Gaven’s gaze on me as the words register. Aidia shifts but doesn’t speak. She doesn’t need to. I can practically read her thoughts. My father sent multiple scouting parties beyond the walls to try to find survivors at Fallen Hold, but in all these years, they haven’t found any.
“For so long, we’d thought they were lost to us, but Fallen Hold is now Mountain Haven once again. Now we can rejoice in their safe return,” my father continues.
“Where have they been all these years?” Rafe asks.
My father’s smile pinches a hint. He hates when Rafe chips away at his authority. While I love seeing my father taken down a peg or two, I hate that it’s Rafe benefiting from it.
“Underground, and then rebuilding. Apparently, it took them until now to have the infrastructure in place to reach us without risk of losing lives in the journey through the Drained Wood.” Murmurs rise around the table.
My father pauses until they hush again. “Not only are the Havenwoods still ruling the hold, but they have a son and heir.”
The guests descend into pandemonium—chairs scrape as several men push back from the table as if preparing to riot.
They won’t actually do it, because anyone Divine-blessed who lives inside these city walls is loyal to my family out of necessity.
Still, they get a thrill from believing for a moment they might be able to hit back.
I can relate.
Animated conversations break out all around me, including between Kellan and Libby.
Even before the attack on Mountain Haven, city folk considered the people of the fort savages.
Aidia and I used to sneak out to pubs, hoping to hear stories about the only world we knew outside the city walls.
We listened intently as tradesmen told tales of their huntsmen offering bloody rituals to Asher, the Divine of Endings, or wild sex rituals to Kennymyra, the Divine of Pleasure.
We were sheltered and inexperienced and fascinated.
Their world seemed so much more mysterious and feral, so very much in contrast to our structured, bustling city.
I catch Aidia’s gaze, and she lifts a brow as if to say she sees where our father’s speech is going.
They’re going to marry off some poor young woman from one of the lower magical families to the Fallen Hold heir.
If they survived this long out in the wild, the Havenwoods either have more powerful magic than our parents realized—or a more valuable secret.
If there’s one thing they can’t resist, it’s the possibility of more power.
Aidia nods to several young, unmarried women at the far end of the table. They wring their hands and stare wide-eyed at the plates of untouched stuffed zucchini blossoms in front of them. A young woman from a lesser family is a small price to pay for whatever helped them survive.
I lean back in my chair. Thank Divine I’m a widow. I haven’t been this happy that Marc’s dead since the day I killed him. I served my time, and now my reward is largely being ignored.
My father smiles indulgently at the whispering crowd, as if we are all just a bunch of naive children. Finally, he holds up both hands and the room quiets.
“Liza and I are delighted to accept their request to come back into the fold after thinking they were lost to us for so long. They arrive tomorrow.” He looks at my mother, who rises and takes his hand, lifting her wine glass with the other.
She nods, and my father continues. “We’d also like to offer a toast. After much misfortune, this is a moment of hope. ”
The guilt placates everyone, and a wave of solemn nods goes through the crowd, all eyes shifting to me. I refuse to meet any of their gazes. It’s so hard to fake grief over my horrible, dead husband. I do my best impression of a weary widow.
My father clears his throat, indicating the end of his performance of solemnity.
“We are certain that whatever has allowed them to thrive in such dire circumstances makes them a great asset to strengthening our resolve against the Drained. We are pleased to announce that we’ve agreed to a preliminary marriage contract between their son and our youngest daughter, Harlow. ”
Kellan tenses beside me and Aidia’s jaw drops across the table, but it’s not until every gaze in the room shifts to me that I register that my father said my name.
I choke on my wine, sputtering into my napkin. I stare at my father, trying to master my expression. All the years of practice and gritting it out through pain fail me; I can only manage a tight smile.
There’s a challenge in his eye, as if he’s daring me to argue in front of everyone, knowing I would never break the first rule of the Carrenwell Family—present a united front in public and save dissent for behind closed doors.
I force a smile to my face and nod.
My father holds up his glass. “Now we’d like to offer a toast to our daughter for solidifying this alliance and ensuring a stronger future for all of Lunameade. To Harlow.”
The crowd repeats after him, and glasses clink. I knock back the stinging bubbles and enjoy the sharp burn that slides down my throat.
My parents want to trade me to some savage from beyond the walls, but I have every intention of getting something for my trouble.