7
THE POISONER
Not even the scalding water could warm my bones.
The private bathroom was outfitted with a new tub, deep enough to fully submerge if I wanted.
The bathroom was bright enough to burn my eyes, even after several minutes of attempting to adjust. It was a corner room, the tub displayed before large windows overlooking the park. The steam clouded the panes faster than I could open the window.
“I’m freezing,” I said aloud, without looking from the view.
Phoebe’s blurry reflection moved in the glass, her arm extending over the water. “If the steam were any thicker, you may be able to form it like clay in your hand.” Her clever way of telling me I’m being unreasonable.
Little pitters on the water.
I looked up to Phoebe’s hand dropping petals over my head. One stuck to my face before I blew it off in a stubborn puff.
“Can you at least be happy to be alive?”
“I’m not quite sure I’m happy about it yet.”
“Come now, don’t be that way.” She pouted, slipping her princess-pink robe from her shoulders and allowing it to collect on the floor.
I glared at her, but it did not stop her from slipping into the other end of the tub. She gave a cheeky smile, dabbing a bit of soap foam on my nose. “Just like old times.”
“We aren’t children anymore, Phoebe.” I wiped my face, sinking lower into the water.
“Why must you be so severe,” she mumbled, reaching over the tub to the rolling cart.
From there she produced two glasses of champagne.
She placed one in my hand, then grasped my arm to force it up into a toast with her glass.
“We keep high spirits by filling spirits high.” She chimed the glasses, a pert reference to the liquid in the glass.
While this may have cheered me before, the gesture meant something, but the pleasure meant none.
I stared at the glass, trying to remember a time when I would drink merrily, or sadly, or angrily, or at all.
Despite my tastes, I couldn’t find even the slightest appetite for alcohol.
It was like a flattened libido, amnesia, I could not remember the relief of drowning my emotions.
I was unbearably sharp, no urge to dull my senses.
The only compulsion left in me was to eat, my body forcing me to function.
But my mind was still wrapping itself around the idea of exactly what I needed to consume.
I took a sip, but it didn’t quite taste like it did before. It was bubbly, and tart, but no sweetness, not really a flavor.
“Can I still get drunk?” I asked.
“Of course, but it wears off faster.” She sighed. “One thing some miss when they turn.”
I placed the glass down on the windowsill, the cool champagne glass fogging in the summer air. Tiny bubbles shimmered like diamonds in the light.
Even with my newfound mental clarity—or numbness, whatever one may call this sensation—I was still undeniably sick.
My stomach rolled, my body an uncomfortable suit I must wear, but at the cost of some sanity.
My brain and body were having a disconnect of the greatest concern, like biology and my humanist traits clashing together.
I felt empty.
I was empty.
Phoebe’s hand touched mine under the water.
I wasn’t insane, she saw it too. My dear friend offered a gentle squeeze of condolence.
“Does it get better?” I asked.
“Only if you let us help,” she whispered. “Your journey may be different from what you imagined, I understand the frustration. But it just means the horizon has changed, and we have to reorient you.”
“I don’t know where to start.”
“That’s why you have me, silly.” She smiled, then she weighed her next words reluctantly. “And others.”
“Still upset with him?” I joked.
“It’s complicated.”
“And Luka?”
She tipped her head back in annoyance.
“He’s in your good graces too?” I squinted skeptically.
“Complicated!” she singsonged, as she brought the champagne glass to her lips and threw her head back. “Enough about them. We have a busy day.”
“Of . . . ?”
“Well, we could do high tea by noon, a promenade by two in the afternoon, and perhaps we will fashion you a new wardrobe on the way back.” She was already logging the agenda in her head as she counted on her fingers.
“When were you going to mention your father was here?” I sipped my glass.
Phoebe bit her lip, slowly looking back to me, as if she thought she’d heard me wrong. “My father is due to visit. We are preparing to receive a lot of people.”
“He is already here.”
Her cheeks flushed. “Well, that’s news to me. He could have sent a telegram.”
“He was in my room, Phoebe.”
“That’s nonsense,” she laughed, “the brain does silly things, especially if you were anxious already—”
“Phoebe,” my tone was warning, “does Silas know he’s here?”
“He wasn’t supposed to come, not yet—”
“So that’s a no.” I nodded, this supposedly relaxing bath getting more stressful by the minute. I went to stand.
Phoebe pulled me back down. “Wait.”
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or are you going to call me hysterical again?” I raised my brow.
“If you saw him,” she gulped, “then I believe you.”
I settled back into the water, the two of us close as she clasped my hand in hers.
“What exactly did Silas do to your Nest? The old one,” I pressed.
She smiled sheepishly. “I don’t know if you will be delighted or angry when I tell you.”
“Tell me,” I insisted.
“Do you remember the poisons? The ones confiscated in your confinement?”
“Of course I do.”
“Did you wonder what became of the other four you didn’t use?”
My heart sank, then elevated all over again. “Go on,” I pestered.
“Silas used them on the bloodwine.” She shook her head. I couldn’t tell if she thought it was brave or foolish. “Everyone, almost instantly. Not as good as the one you’ve perfected. But the cruelty echoed across the world, Alina.” Phoebe held my hand tight. “And now we must answer for it.”
“We?”
“They’ve been working on our case, our appeal.” She swallowed. “Kin-killing is a great betrayal; in many cases it would warrant execution if it were some minor Vipera. But it could be justified considering the circumstances.”
The blankness of my stare must have made her continue.
“Aptissimus quisque tantum superest.” She spoke the Latin fluently, as if I should know this exciting revelation.
“Only the fittest survives. We do not follow many laws, most have been unwritten since we came to existence. Our community enforces the forbiddance of kin-killing, Host imprisonment, and forced turning. There are small escapeways in all three that require some creativity to get around, but it is done regularly.”
“So how are we getting out of this?”
She nodded. “Silas’s actions can be seen as him challenging his father’s place as Sire, considering he shouldn’t have been able to do such damage with the Nest under our father’s protection. He demonstrated pretty clearly that our father was unfit.”
She stopped speaking, but I was still waiting for how this tied into my first question.
“So your father is here because . . . ?”
She blew air from her nose exasperatedly. “He is here because we now have to go through an Appraisal.”
“Like a trial?”
“No—well, no, it’s a special kind. We have to make our case that our Nest is now in official standing,” she explained.
“You can’t just form them?”
“No, we have official standards,” she huffed, “why do you think there are so many Dens and Guilds? Not everyone can be a Nest, even if they try.”
“Why would we want to be anywhere near the other Nests?” I hissed. “I thought the point was to break away from these classist hierarchies.”
She leaned close, her sharp eyes leveling with mine. “Because if we can’t pull this off, and we cannot make a case for ourselves, we will all be killed. We are asking for protection as part of the Nest so that my father can’t demand that we all be executed for sport.”
“Why hasn’t he already?”
“Because Silas and Luka have already made the case. The representatives, from all over the world, are coming soon to hear it officially. Which is why my father has to be here. He’s betting on us losing.”
If the water didn’t warm me up by now, the warning certainly would.
“Do you understand, Alina?” She squeezed my hands. “We have to get you sorted before then. Any weak link means death to us all.”
I wouldn’t lie, the insinuation that I may be the weakest of this Nest didn’t help the curdle of my stomach. Even with my ego a bit battered, I nodded.
She smiled wide, like a switch had been flipped. “Now let’s get you dressed or we will be late for tea.”
With a new spritely energy, she left the tub and wrapped her robe around herself again, disappearing back into her room to rummage for clothes.
I was left there with the existential question.
The stakes I’ve been thrust into were new and high, deadly. I couldn’t say I had full confidence in Silas and Luka, considering they were why we were in this particular mess. I’ve just awoken, and I already had six months of problems to catch up on.
Phoebe was right. Even if I wanted to help, I couldn’t. I didn’t know the culture, the politics, I hadn’t even grasped my new-turned nature yet. I was behind in every way of the word, on every facet, on every front line.
I may have survived the turn, but was I built to survive this world?