Page 216 of Harbinger

Stefan grunts but doesn’t let go.

“Don’t scream,” Laurel says. “It’s worse for your family if you scream.”

And then Stefan drags me into the Cinderwald.

THIRTY-SEVEN

Undergrowth crackles beneath our boots as Stefan shuffles me deeper into the forest. Laurel is close behind, issuing orders even now. I work my jaw, trying to find another angle to bite the hand over my mouth again, but it’s clasped too tightly.

And I was dreading the dessert course.

Laurel catches up to us, her gown gathered in one hand to keep it out of the brambles. With the other, she fishes a small, flat disc out of her bodice and turns it over in her palm.

A portable postern like the one Bishop has. Fear floods through me, the little food I ate threatening to come back up.

“He’ll meet us a few miles east of here,” she says to her guard. “Then we’ll be done and we can go home.”

Something tells me she isn’t talking about Journey’s End.

The guard slows to a stop in a small clearing, but he doesn’t release me. No matter how many times I kick him.

“Keep fighting me and I’ll knock you unconscious,” he hisses in my ear.

I still. I need to be conscious if I’m going to get at my sword and slice his fucking head off.

Laurel steps in front of me, the look on her face almost apologetic. “I’ll have him let you go if you swear you won’t shout.”

I nod against his hand.

She tilts her head at Stefan. He hesitates as though he disagrees with this choice, but he releases me. The instant my body is free, I tear away from him, drawing the sword at my hip.

Stefan watches me, faintly amused.

But I direct my rage at my brother’s fiancée. “You won’t get away with this.”

“Oh, I will.” She turns the postern in her hand like she’s admiring a ring. “There’s no version of this where I don’t. I’ve been very careful. Waiting for this moment. Encouraging Broderic to let you come home. Inviting you to dinner.”

She sounds like she’s reciting a recipe.

“Poisoning the sauce,” she adds, and a fresh bolt of terror hits me. “Your brother. Your sister. Andry. Bishop. Everyone at the table tonight enjoyed the meal except you … and me.”

Cold filters through my veins. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” She holds up a small bottle stoppered with wax. “This is the antidote. Enough for all of them. If you go through the postern without making a fuss, I’ll see that it makes it into their dessert wine. They’ll be fine.”

I don’t ask what’s waiting on the other side of the portal for me.

“And if I don’t?”

She shrugs. “Then they’ll all die in the parlor sometime in the next hour, waiting for us to come back from our walk.”

Acid rises in my throat.

“At first, it only has a soporific effect,” she says. “But once the poison takes hold, I hear death can be quite painful.” She shrugs. “Unfortunately, you didn’t seem hungry tonight.”

“Twelvetide,” I say, my grip on the sword’s hilt growing slick. “The bellanotte. That was you.”

“Not me. I was here, accepting your brother’s proposal. But as you know, my uncle can deliver anything in Antares. Even assassins.”