5. Henry
HENRY
H arlow Carrenwell tried to kill me.
It takes a moment for it to sink in. I stare down at the marriage contract as if the answer might be written there. That menace tried to kill me, and I fell right into her trap because she batted those long eyelashes at me.
I knew that someone would have it out for me the moment I set foot in Lunameade, but this is not where I expected the first shot would come from. At least now I have a specific reason to hate her and not just a general hatred of her family.
Harlow watches me with narrowed eyes, like she’s waiting for me to rat her out.
She shifts so her hand rests on a ceremonial blade on the bookshelf.
She was so convincing in her performance last night.
But now, with belladonna blossoms embroidered on her dress and her hand on a blade, she looks as dangerous as she truly is.
Since the attack ten years ago, my vision has been colorless. But while the rest of the world is a spectrum of muted grays, Harlow is black and white. That’s why I noticed her in the bar. Her hair dark and inky, her skin pale as fresh snow. In a monochrome world, Harlow is still striking.
She catches me staring and flashes a knife-sharp smile.
I thought I’d at least make it down the aisle before I did something offensive enough to beg for that level of ire. She tried to murder me…and yet she also moaned and arched into me when I kissed her neck. Either she’s the world’s greatest actress, or she was at least a little bit into it.
My parents are looking at her like they won the daughter-in-law lottery. Coming here and making this offer was a huge gamble, and now they know for sure it paid off. Her magic is dangerous, but not from a distance.
I’ve nurtured my hatred of the Carrenwells for almost ten long years. I was not supposed to ever see Harlow as anything but an assignment, and yet, she’s already outmaneuvered me. Every time I look at her, I can only think of her body pressed against mine.
Harlow was only meant to be a means to an end—someone I could woo and use for information. But the fact that she has sneaky magic makes her even more of an asset.
My new fiancée’s gaze is fixed on me, like she’s waiting for me to speak now and end this.
I’m outraged enough to consider it, but if I tell everyone now, I won’t get a chance to figure out who put her up to it.
I won’t get a chance to figure out why she ran off instead of finishing the job she set out to do by some other method, or how she managed to be so convincing.
The memory of the way she whimpered when I kissed the thin slash of skin at the top of her stockings rattled through my mind all night, and I need to rid myself of the idea that it was anything more than an act.
Most importantly, if I sell her out now, I won’t get a chance at revenge.
“Could we see a demonstration?” my father asks, startling me from my thoughts.
It takes all my focus not to react. When we planned for this meeting, we’d expected a demonstration would be manipulation or holy fire—not murder. But my father gives me an expectant look, and I have no choice but to commit.
Harlow’s body is rigid, poised to run.
I grin at her and nod. “Yes, I’d love to see.”
Liza Carrenwell knocks twice on the door. A moment later, it opens, and a man walks in. He hands her a paper with trembling hands.
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. I should 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.
An uncomfortable feeling, something like sympathy, twists in my stomach.
This could all be a carefully choreographed game to prey on my sympathies. I know better than to expect not to be tested. After last night, I can’t put any of this past her.
Harlow steps closer, and the heady scent of her skin hits me like a blow, mingling with the iron smell of blood.
I place my palm over her bloody wound. Her skin is warm and sticky and her pulse pounds.
“Does it hurt?” I whisper.
“No,” she says.
The burning ache that she’s trying very hard not to react to is so sharp it feels like my arm is wounded.
I click my tongue. “Lying again, lovely? Shame on you. It doesn’t matter, though, because I can feel it.”
Her gaze goes far away.
“Harlow?”
Her eyes remain unfocused, like she’s looking through me. I push my power into her, and she winces as the tingling, itching sensation hits her skin.
“It will pass in a second,” I say.
She clenches her jaw as the last edge of the cut knits together. I know that overwhelming itch. She sighs as I pull out a handkerchief and wipe away the blood to reveal flawless skin again.
“Remarkable,” Liza says. “You’d never even know she was cut.”
For a moment, I forget to speak. Neither of her parents looks remotely concerned about whether Harlow is still in pain. I suppose it’s not a surprise since they just watched a man die without batting an eye. Still, I thought maybe they’d show more concern for their own daughter.
I meet Harlow’s eyes. “The pain takes longer to abate, but it will.”
Liza steps closer. “Does it work as well on sickness? Ailments of the mind? ”
I frown at her. “Can’t say I’ve had much opportunity to work on ailments of the mind, but I do well enough with fevers.”
“What happens now?” Harlow asks.