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Plenty of things are stopping me—like literally falling into this man's arms. I am a horrible dancer—but I settle on the elephant in the room. "By your father’s law, I’m a Cerise. Aren't you worried about what he’ll say?"
"The king says too much about things he knows nothing about." Bash takes my hand, not waiting for me to reject the offer, and pulls me into him. He smells just as I remember, like cedar and smoke with a hint of wood.
But there’s something else too. A node to one of the towns I traveled through as a child. Growing up, Mom, Karter, and I were nomads, never settling in one place too long for fear of being discovered. My hair is always a problem, but Mother's gifts were something in itself. Sherefused to hide what she was, claiming that she was born to help those around us.
Her desire to heal the sick is what got her killed. And Karter.
But the spiced cologne Bash is wearing tickles at a foggy memory. I can’t place which town it comes from or when I smelled it last. We went to many villages over the years; the faces and places blur together, but this smellfeelsimportant. I just can’t remember why.
"And what of your people?” I ask. “Surely their opinion matters."
Bash guides us to the center of the room, gliding across the floor with expert precision and somehow making my stumbling feet look graceful. "If the people's opinions mattered, I would be locked up for less than being smitten with a beautiful woman."
"An inspiring speech for your future bride," I tease. Bash chuckles and spins me once. My feet move gracefully as I twirl, and then I’m in his arms again.
“You shouldn’t be here, little bird." Bash's hand supports my lower back as he dips me, and I’m keenly aware that my chest is near his face. When my gaze rises again, he is looking at me. Not my body. Seeing through the armor I wear and burning a hole into my heart.
"Where I shouldn’t be is irrelevant. I needed a way into the castle." I look at Bash’s face again, taking in the little details. The intricate pieces of him that aren’t noticeable to the naked eye unless you search. He has a thin, white line that cuts through the scar in his left eyebrow, and the stubble on one side of his face is slightly thicker. He looks tired, understandably so after the night we had.
We’re upright again, walking through the motions of our dance, but Bash takes a long time to respond. He never looks away. Instead, he unabashedly drinks me in, as I have him. When he finally speaks, it feels like an eternity has passed but the reality is it’s been less than a minute. The quartet still plays the same tune, and we still absentmindedly drift to its melody. “I should let you go. Allowing you to stay is dangerous for both of us.”
“Please,” I nearly beg, and the axis I’ve built my life on shifts. I blanch, feeling a cold sweat claim my body at the realization that I’m asking the Crown for a favor. “He’s family. I want to save him, but if I can’t… I won’t let him die alone.”
"Your friend is alive,” Bash says, and an unspokenfor nowlingers in the air.
Time feels impossibly precious. I am suddenly aware of each heartbeat that passes and each second that drifts away with the music. I’m still mad at Ezra for trying to spell me into loving him, but I understand desperation. His intentions, while fucked, weren’t malicious.
The music changes but instead of bowing and stepping aside, Bash spins me and pulls me tighter to his chest. His hand rests on the bare skin of my back, his thumb teasing the hem of my dress. It is scandalous for us to be this close. This is not the Red Keep, and we are not betrothed. Etiquette dictates there be space between us and that his hand settles at the center of my back.
Bash drapes my arm over his shoulder and traces his fingers down the side of my bodice. I shiver, feeling his touch through the layers. For the first time since stepping foot into Central Arcane, I can breathe. I don’t feel the weight of worry or the sting of fear. Being with Bash feels like I’ve finally found my home.
The thought almost has me recoiling in his arms. Something is wrong with me. I haven’t been drawn to someone like this since before the fire, and even then, all I did was like the boy. This sensation is dangerous and potent.
I push the feelings away, and my mouth sours. I pull out of Bash’s arms and turn, right as everything I’ve eaten paints the ballroom floor. I heave again, this time pulling up the wine I drank earlier and feel the color drain from my face.
I recognize the after-sting of the rancid berry meddled into the wine.
Bash gingerly touches my back and reaches for my hair, holding it in case I puke again. I do, only this time, there’s not much left in my system, and I’m spitting a mixture of saliva and blood.
“The wine,” I say, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, tears leaking down my cheeks. “It’s poisoned.”
Ican’t hear anything over the sound of my pulse in my ears as time slows to a crawl. I see Bash’s lips say, “Are you okay?” but my mouth fills with saliva, and another cold chill snakes down my spine. I can’t tell if I’m going to throw up again or if I’ve gotten all the poison out of my system and my body is recovering from the shock.
I should have recognized the berry sooner. Belladonna has a unique flavor, one most people don’t have the chance to taste twice. It’s potent and kills nearly everyone whose tongue it touches.
Tonight’s assassin was clever. Whoever it was, they knew we’d drink more than one glass of wine and chose dilution and exposure over speed.
Bash looks around, and the tightening of his face has me following his gaze. Three people have dropped to the floor, and six others are violently heaving up something so dark it’s almost black. Screams of panic drown out the string quartet that tries to maintain normalcy but, one by one, the Crown’s guests drop.
Like so many others falling ill, I cough and struggle to stand upright without swaying. At some point, though I’m not sure when, Riot joined us. He and Bash exchange a look and I can tell we’re thinking the same thing.
Tonight wasn’t an accident. It was an act of war. Someone has moved a pawn in a game I didn’t know we were playing without a care as to how many others die so long as their poison reaches the king's lips.
I shift on my feet to look for Sage. She shouldn’t be hard to find. Her black dress stands out against the masses of pastel pinks, yellows, andgreens, but there’s so much chaos. People scream, cry, and run around aimlessly, tripping over bodies that have fallen and slipping on vomit. I can’t find her.
I vaguely notice King Travers being ushered out of the room but don’t have time to wonder why no one besides Riot has come to find Bash or why the guards stand motionlessly at their stations instead of ushering the healthy to safety.
My mind is on Sage, and I need to know she’s okay. Sutherland too.
