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Iknowshe did.
So with each half-truth, I remind her of Damian’s sick fascination with the first daughter she ever chose. Of how the story he told doesn’t make sense. How he’s hiding something.
Her eyes burn with enough rage that I might feel guilt if I was throwing the blame at anyone else’s feet. But a sick part of myself can’t help but fantasize about how she might punish him, knowing what he tried to do to my sister.
Then I start threading through the lies, peppered with just enough veracity to sell them.
I didn’t betray you.Not initially.
What could I possibly gain from those fires?Nothing. I didn’t gain anything at all from them.
I don’t know who set them.It always felt like someone else was taking over.
I didn’t know him before.I’m not even sure I know him now.
My words are hoarse and strained as I repeat the same details over and over again.
Finally, desperately, I croak out what I know she wants to hear.
I am loyal to you, Mother. I would be nothing without you.
The serum doesn’t fight me at all.
That satisfies her, like I knew it would. She unlocks the shackles at my wrists and ankles and the bar around my ribcage. I know better than to sag forward, even though at least one of my ribs is broken.
She takes my face in her hand, tilting my chin up toward her.
“There now, was that so hard to say?” she asks in a deceptively mild tone, one that is at odds with the fury still blazing from her every feature.
“No, Mother,” I rasp.
She drops my head, spinning to pull a vial from the shelf behind her. When she turns back around to face me, the blood drains from my face.
Of course I recognize it. Alchemy may not be my strong suit, but half a lifetime in Madame’s service, under her tutelage, has instilled me with enough knowledge to identify most poisons, tonics, and ingredients.
Throughout the past several hours, I have been forced to swallow concoctions that make me feel like I’m burning from the inside out, then freezing alive. One that feels like fire ants are attacking every square inch of my skin, and another that temporarily blinds me.
And still, that innocuous-looking blue liquid may be the most terrifying one of all.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
AIKA
The blue vial is heavier than it has a right to be in my pocket, like it’s physically weighing me down. I’m lucky Mother didn’t just force feed it to me, but she assures me each sip has to be taken at precisely the right time.
Acid creeps up my throat, and it has nothing to do with the ribs she didn’t bother to heal all the way.
I push the thoughts away, centering myself with the rhythmic throbbing of my concealed bruises and the seeping wounds on the soles of my feet. She did give me a healing tonic, but not enough to fully repair the damage.
So I would remember her orders, she said.
As though I’m likely to forget.
The moon is still high in the sky, dawn not yet having made its appearance. An icy wind whips through my cloak, sending shivers down my spine that turn into spasms. I rub my arms to infuse some warmth into them as I creep into the shadows of the Heights, counting down the minutes until I’m back at the palace.
I can climb in bed and sleep the rest of this off and exist with a relative degree of safety for at least a little while. That thought spurs me to put one foot in front of the other.
Still, my footsteps are heavier than usual, my movements slower, my reactions delayed. Those are the excuses I give myself, anyway, when I realize someone has gotten the drop on me.
