The Kinder Poison

by Natalie Mae

  “When you ask me a question you already know the answer to, it makes me want to lie.”

  “You blackmailed someone.”

  Hen just grins and lets down my hair, threading crystals into the brown waves around my face, then lifts a delicate tangle of chains from the grain sack. It separates into three fine loops in her fingers, a garnet pendant dangling from the place they connect. A protection rune flashes from the gem’s face. I realize what it is just as she lowers it, and I grab her wrists.

  “I can’t accept this,” I say.

  “But it’s yours.”

  “No, it was my mother’s, and now it’s your mother’s, after mine gave it to her on her deathbed.”

  “Mora wants you to wear it.” She secures the last hairpin so the jewel dangles by my left eye, and starts taming flyaway stands of my hair. A new wave of appreciation for everything she’s done floods through me.

  “I’ll take care of it,” I say.

  “I know.”

  She grabs my hand and tows me from the storage room. Fara turns from where he’s mixing a poultice, and smiles as he takes us in.

  “You look royal, girls,” he says. “But is everything all right? Did I hear the boat is boarding now?”

  “Yes, Fara, sorry,” I say, darting to peck his cheek. “I love you. See you tomorrow!”

  “Love you, too,” he calls.

  I think he might also say something about making good choices, but we’re already out the door, me holding a hand to my head chain and Hen holding her skirt. The desert sun burns hot on our shoulders.

  “Rie,” I swear. “I can’t believe we’re doing this. I can’t believe we’re actually going!” I laugh as we turn a corner, as fleet as antelope. “Can you even imagine what the contenders are going through? I’m nervous just to watch! I bet they’ll be judged on their every move. One wrong smile and that’s it, no eternal glory for them.”

  Hen shrugs. “But also no untimely death.”

  “Death?” We swerve to avoid a mother holding a baby. “The royal siblings aren’t supposed to kill each other, are they?”

  “Oh, no. But I’ve been reading all about past contests, and sometimes death just happened. Rogue assassins, hungry hyenas, starvation . . .”

  My stomach tightens in pity. I guess I assumed royalty would have divine protection against such things, especially considering the way people have been celebrating the contenders all week. Everyone seems much more concerned with the prizes for being chosen: their name in history, a suite at the palace. I never stopped to consider why the prizes were so grand.

  “Gods, and they’re out there at least a week, right?”

  “If they don’t get hopelessly lost.”

  “That would be awful,” I say as we cross into the upper district. The road ahead is packed with people, and Hen tugs me toward a gap at the side. “Can you imagine? Going through all this fuss and stress, just to get buried under a sandstorm?”

  “Well, they will have spells and such. But just think.” Hen’s eyes flash, and we press between a man in a brown tunic and a pigtailed girl. “If Gallus gets chosen, we can picture him being chased by all kinds of rabid things.”

  I snicker at the thought of my ex pompously fighting a rattlesnake while trying to keep his hair perfect. “I hope something bites him in the rear while he’s sleeping.”

  “I hope it bites him in the—”

  “Shh,” I say, giggling and clasping my hand over her mouth. The ground under our feet has shifted from hot brick to cool wood. “You can’t say that here. At least wait until we’re on the boat.”

  The mesh of people thickens as we excuse ourselves through, until it suddenly yields to the dock, a long structure of waterproof wood and iron posts, upon which ropes tether all sizes of boats to the shore. Guards stand in a wide semicircle around the priest and his assistants, giving them space. The nearest guard takes one look at our elaborate joles and nods us through. The crowd grumbles in envy. I admit the attention sends a shiver of satisfaction down my spine—I’m usually the one watching everyone else leave.

  Galena stands at the base of a wide plank, and it takes me a moment to realize that plank doesn’t lead to the glass boat. It leads to one made of a strange wood instead, something swirled with black and golden tones that looks like an enormous version of the giraffe from Mora’s collection. A deep red canopy shades its deck, under which dozens of people mingle in their finest, their small crowns of gold and gemmed rings glinting like sparks in the sun. I recognize a young man who tutored Hen in writing, and the Gemsmith—no wonder her wife is tending her wares. The plank to the glass boat is by the priest instead, blocked by a particularly burly guard.

  The Mestrah must have sent one boat to carry spectators and another for the contenders. I’m slightly disappointed Hen and I won’t be riding on glass, but honestly I’d be happy to take a leaky canoe at this point.

  “Here’s something we didn’t think about,” I mutter, looping my arm through Hen’s. “The entire town is staring at us right now, including the Apothecarist I just bought salves from and your nemesis, who might remember handing me her shoes this morning. The punishment for getting caught is seriously ‘go away,’ right?”

  “Don’t worry. No one’s going to recognize you. Your makeup has been done correctly for once.”

  I snort. “I can do my makeup correctly.”

  “Mm hmm.” She adjusts her hair and smooths a pleat near my hip. “Like I said, they don’t care about spectators. They only strip your name away and shame your family if you try to sneak in as a contender. So relax, you’re wrinkling the silk.”

  I exhale, trying to draw on even a sliver of Hen’s confidence. I don’t need to be so nervous. This will either work or it won’t, and if it doesn’t, at least I will have tried. Maybe I’ll even gain some semblance of infamy. I think I’d like people looking at me sidelong, worried I might do something unexpected and daring at any moment.

  “Cutting it close, aren’t we?” the priest says, his usual scowl in place. The words inked into his shoulders glisten with embedded gold. “Lucky for you, we’re all happy to stand around in the heat while you decide whether you’ll bother to show.”

  “Apologies, adel,” Hen says, bowing with her arm over her chest. I do the same. “We lost track of time.”

  “Which of you is Hen, and which is Lia?”

  “I’m Hen,” Hen says.

  Galena steps forward with a smile. She nods to me as well, but Hen must not be exaggerating about my makeup, because all Galena’s gaze holds is curiosity, thank the gods. She’s still shoeless, and I still have an undefinable urge to hug her.

  “Hen, I’m Galena,” she says, nodding in greeting.

  “I know who you are,” Hen says, crossing her arms. I clear my throat, and Hen mercifully says nothing more.

  Galena raises a brow but gestures to the plank. “Would you come with me?”

  I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming Yes! I can’t believe we did it. After the uncertainty of this week, after all our worrying, now we can finally relax. We’re here. We’re here, and with Hen having already done . . . whatever she did . . . to get our identities cleared, there are no more hurdles. We’re going to the palace, and it’ll be a night that’s just ours; a treasure no one can take away.

  A memory I can unfold anytime I’m missing her, and remember what we used to be.

  We start for the plank—and the priest grabs my arm.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he says.

  My heart lurches. He knows. Gods, he knows, and of course he’d wait until the worst possible moment to reveal it—

  “That boat’s for the spectators,” he says. “The contenders are over here.”

  III

  FOR a moment, all the sound leaves the world. I’m sure I’ve misheard him. Or perhaps pan
icked my way into a subconscious state, where things mean the opposite of what they are.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I think you’re confused.”

  His orange eyes narrow. This close up, I can see his pupils are slit like a cat’s. “You are Lia, daughter of Rai?”

  I swallow. “Yes.”

  “Then I think you need to learn to read. All elite Masters your age qualify for contention. It was written in the first line of your invitation.”

  The heat is like a fist around my throat. He thinks I’m a Master. I don’t know how he could think that, but I have a dreadful, sinking feeling that Hen missed something when she added my name to the list.

  “Is there a problem?” Hen says, popping up at my side.

  “I’ve qualified for contention!” I say too joyfully. “Because I’m a Master. Isn’t that great?”

  All the confidence blanches from Hen’s face. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her afraid before, and it scares me more than what the priest is saying.

  “Oh,” she says weakly. “Because Lia was—” She coughs. “Are you sure? I’m really certain the invitation didn’t say she was eligible.”

  Because Lia—my mother—was a Master. The heat pushes into my gut. Hen assured me they wouldn’t look at the names again this late in the process, but it seems very much like someone did, and sweat beads my neck as the priest checks the ledger.

  “Hmm.” He frowns. “Yes, there was something strange with your name. It was out of order, so it must have been added last minute. But my contact at the capital confirmed you’re eligible. You must have gotten the wrong scroll.” He mimes tossing a handful of confetti. “Sorry, surprise, and congratulations. Say goodbye, and let’s go.”

  “Um, actually—” I start.

  “She’ll be right there!” Hen says before the priest can turn around.

  “What are you doing?” I hiss as she pulls me aside. “We need to confess now. I can’t be in the contention pool!”

  “Do you remember when I mentioned eternal shame and your name being stripped for people who lie about being contenders?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s what this is.”

  “That’s not what this was supposed to be!”

  “I know!” Hen pulls on the braids in her hair, eyes watering. If she cries, I will lose it entirely. “I’m sorry. Gods, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what happened! Even if he checked your name, I thought—whoever looked at the records should have seen you were way too young to be your mother. End of story, you go on as a spectator. They must be so busy, they didn’t look at her birthday—”

  “What am I going to do?”

  People are muttering and eyeing us. We’re delaying too long, and now they aren’t simply curious to see the boats off, but to see why this girl they don’t recognize is holding up the glass boat. If I run, would they let me through?

  “You can’t run,” Hen says, practically reading my mind. “I’m sorry, but you can’t. Those guards will catch you in a second, and the contending families take this really seriously. If they think you’re trying to sabotage their chances, they might hurt you, Zahru. They might hurt Fara.”

  “That’s unsurprisingly not helpful!”

  “I know! But listen, this can still be all right.” She squeezes my shoulders, and I might’ve been encouraged by the calm settling over her face if I weren’t imagining a mob descending on the stable. “I know this seems bad, but the proving part of the evening is done. The next step is the banquets. You know enough about potions to be passable, so as long as you’re not bragging about it, you should be fine. And if you have to, faint. No heir’s going to pick someone who can’t even handle the stress of a banquet.”

  I exhale, trying to regain control of my nerves. Hen’s right. No one has any reason to believe I’m not who I say I am, and the biggest danger now is actually being chosen for a team, for which my odds were low even if I was my mother. I can be a sparkling conversationalist. Then all I need to worry about is not drawing royal attention, and everything should be fine.

  “All right,” I say, swallowing. “Lie to people, faint if necessary. I can do that.”

  A tap on my shoulder makes me jump.

  “Would you like me to announce you to the Mestrah as the reason we’re late,” the priest growls, “or would you like the chance to do it yourself?”

  I turn at once. “Coming! Sorry.”

  I cast one more panicked look at Hen, who watches me with something between guilt and helplessness, not even flinching when Galena touches her arm to guide her up the plank. The distance between us grows like a chasm. I know we’re only going to be separated for a few hours, but this feels like a warning from the gods; a crack on the wrist for daring to want something above my station.

  I move up the plank, feeling like I’ve crossed into the wrong side of a dream.

  Hen watches me from the other side, her hands on the rail, reassurance in her eyes. The servants blow long, curved oxen horns, the sound vibrating through the glass in a dangerous hum, and the crowd bellows as the contenders cluster beside me on the rail. The boat shifts back from the shore. My home slides away bit by bit, faster and faster, and I’m even able to fake a smile and wave—until we slip past the rise where Fara’s stable sits, and two familiar figures wave goodbye.

  * * *

  As the shoreline slips by, I think of Mora.

  Hen’s mother has many different strategies for dealing with stress. Some are as simple as a breathing exercise, and some involve plotting a cold revenge over many months until the customer who wronged her is sorry they ever lived. I’ve decided to employ my own strategy by embracing this as just another part of my tale. This is, after all, exactly the kind of unlucky circumstance that starts off the best of the travelers’ stories, and just when it seems the hero is doomed to a tragic end, they’re rescued by a brilliant twist of fate or gorgeous newcomer. I’d happily settle for being rescued by Hen, though I wouldn’t mind the gorgeous newcomer, either. I just need to let the tale play out as it will.

  And so I’ve found a place along the rail, beneath the misting fabric of the blue canopy and out of the way of the contenders, where I can stand and take in everything I thought I’d only ever experience in dreams. The gentle sway of the boat, the feel of a river breeze in my hair. The smooth glass under my fingers, rippling with bursts of reflected sunlight. Fish dart beneath the deck like jewels, and crocodiles swim like black fissures, alive and incredible below my feet. Even the desert seems more mysterious and infinite here, its low plateaus stretching to the horizon in every direction. When we pass a town, people cluster the banks to shout wishes of luck. I can almost believe I’m supposed to be here.

  There’s just one problem Hen and I didn’t account for. When I arrive at the palace, I’ll be one of hundreds, easily lost in the crowd. But here, I’m one of seven. Which wouldn’t concern me so much, if one of those seven wasn’t Gallus.

  “Something to drink, adel?” a servant asks, offering me a tray bearing a single bronze chalice.

  “Yes, thank you,” I say, admiring the tiny white flowers on its surface. It smells like vanilla, and I’m taking a sip when the servant adds, “The boy in green wanted you to know he sent me.”

  And thus ends my happy time alone. But I knew I wouldn’t be able to go the whole evening without speaking to anyone, and it would be good to get in some practice as my alter ego before I have to face one of the heirs. I scan the deck for the boy in green, looking past a petite girl with russet-brown skin and a pale, rosy-cheeked boy at the rail, past a silver-haired girl who stands at the prow, and finally risk a glance at the two boys sitting with Gallus on the benches. I’m snickering that one of his friends thinks I’m worthy of a drink when I realize the boy in green is Gallus, and I spit the juice over the rail. Gods, I can’t believe that’s still his move, or that this is the second time he’s used
it on me. I slam the drink back on the tray.

  “Sorry. Can you tell him I’m not interested? And maybe that I have a contagious disease?”

  The servant’s eyes widen. “A contagious disease?”

  “Like heatstrain. Or magipox. Oh! Or moldmouth!”

  Her eyes shift to the drink I put back. “Of—of course, adel . . .”

  Except it’s too late. Gallus has pushed to his feet, obviously confused as to how anyone could resist his charms, and is making his way over. I pray to every god I can think of that his friends will laugh and call him back, or maybe the boat will capsize, but the gods must not be on speaking terms with me right now, because he keeps coming, unhindered.

  This is not how this was supposed to happen. I’ve made it five moons pretending Gallus never existed, and I’d planned to go the rest of my life without talking to him again. Well, maybe not ever again, but definitely not until I’d done something fantastic and memorable, like this very event, after which I’d show up at his house and throw a cup of wine in his face, because that’s what important people do to people who told them they’re worthless.

  I mean, Gallus didn’t use that word exactly. But he said he needed to get “serious” and invest himself in relationships with marriageable women, by which he means girls who have interesting futures and “real” magic. And certainly not girls who thought that’s what they had until he told them they didn’t.

  “I don’t know what you’ve heard about me,” Gallus says, swaggering to the rail. “But honestly, I just wanted to invite you to sit—”

  I pull away and start for the front of the boat. The other two boys watch me, amused.

  “Hey,” Gallus says.

  I keep moving. Gallus clearly doesn’t recognize me under all this makeup—he’d have a lot more to say if he did—and if I can make it to the silver-haired girl, maybe we can form an instant and intimidating alliance that will scare Gallus off for good. Considering what could happen to me if I’m caught, I don’t think Gallus would go so low as to reveal me to the priest, but I’ve been wrong about him before.