Five Poisoned Apples

by Skye Hoffert et al.

  Finally bored with the display, Cynfael turned to me again. “I brought you something.”

  I eyed him in unabashed suspicion. “Have you?” I didn’t trust him. Danger was woven into his very nature.

  He held up two apples. “To celebrate your debut.”

  It was a tempting offer. When did I ever have a chance to enjoy fresh fruit at the circus? The only apples I ever saw were candy-coated and far too expensive for my purse. But his continual offers made me wary of accepting the gift.

  “I figured you wouldn’t take it. I applaud your caution.” Cynfael leaned in conspiratorially. “There are all kinds of unsavoury types to be found here.” He raised a sly eyebrow, winked, then tossed one apple in the air and caught it. “I thought if I had one too, you would feel more inclined to accept.”

  Holding up a finger, he took a hearty bite. The apple had a satisfying crunch. He chewed and swallowed with dramatic flair. His eyes stayed fixed on me. “Disappointing isn’t it? Just an apple.” He held it out with bone white fingers. “Did you think it was poisoned?”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. His lip curled. He was toying with me.

  The apple’s skin shone in the firelight, a striking shade of red. His bite showcased the white flesh inside, a delightful contrast. I couldn’t seem to look away from it. The taste of spun sugar suddenly felt heavy and sickly on my tongue, and I craved something fresh, something pure.

  I took the unmarred apple from him and bit into it with a ravenous grin. The juice danced off my tongue, sweet and crisp. My sudden appetite was subdued by that one bite. I felt refreshed and full, all my hunger gone. I held it for a minute, surprised that I had allowed myself to take it in the first place. I wiped at the juice on my chin, a bit embarrassed that I had fallen for his bait.

  He regarded me with a calculated stare. “Congrats, Snow.” He started to leave but then stopped and worked his jaw. “Whatever happens now, know you deserved a chance to show them, to show her what you are capable of.”

  His cryptic words confused me, and the solemn expression on his face felt wrong. But he seemed to mean them as a compliment.

  “Thanks,” I choked out, my throat a bit hoarse from the cold air.

  He nodded. The air around us flickered for a minute, and the light from the fire seemed to die. Everything seemed skewed and darker somehow.

  I closed my eyes, squeezing them shut. When I opened them again, the shadows had retreated once more, and Cynfael was gone.

  Chapter Eleven

  Chayse

  I jabbed my fork into a slice of meat and for a second wished it was Cynfael’s smug face. He was taking immense pains to be as abrasive as possible. But Mother was captivated, of course. Her drunken laughter was like a bird’s screech, piercing my ears.

  Alilion wasn’t much better. He had succumbed to the wine an hour ago and was talking far too loud, his face as red as cherries. He wouldn’t stop mentioning Snow. “I’ve never seen such talent in a human. She was quite entrancing to watch. A beauty too!”

  His drunken rambles were both repetitive and lecherous. It took all the restraint I had to keep from driving my knife through his eye.

  “I’m almost tempted to ask your price,” he said into his drink.

  Mother, to her credit, kept her composure. “She’s priceless to me, I assure you.” Her voice was light but held a sliver of ice.

  “Shame.” Alilion cut into his meat with a shaky hand. “She would have been a lovely addition.”

  Cynfael cleared his throat. “Surely you have more than enough of that ilk, Father.” He looked uninterested in the entire conversation and pushed his food around his plate in lazy circles.

  Mother stabbed her own meat. I could feel her roiling anger.

  I watched them eat and drink sloppily, a disgusting display. Alilion knocked over his cup in his search for Mother’s hand. The deep-red liquor soaked the white tablecloth and leaked onto the plate of fruit and pastries. Mother laughed as she attempted to save her dress, but her eyes were clear. She wasn’t half as drunk as she pretended.

  I saw her smile tighten as she watched the wine spoil the cloth, the barest flicker of annoyance that even Cynfael seemed to miss. Her anger broiled beneath her manicured surface. She didn’t appreciate the praise heaped upon her pet. She had spared no expense on the dinner and décor, and her dress was probably the most extravagant item of all: a mess of silk and pearls meant to pass for elegance. A waste of effort. Alilion didn’t seem to care what she wore.

  Cynfael smirked at me over his own cup, rolling his eyes. Unlike me, he was suited to these formal dinners. Nothing in his posture or face indicated discomfort.

  My suit was wrinkled and a size smaller than it should be. My tie felt like a noose. I had to sit through all the drunken conversation and the steady stream of emptying cups. The food was the only highlight—frosted grapes, mint sherbet, a variety of cheeses, meats, and breads. A spread for a dozen people surrounded by only the four of us. An indulgent feast, Mother’s specialty, lit up with an array of candles and strung lights.

  It looked magical. It was magic. And I was tired of it all. The cheap glamour intended to cover the broken bodies and blood spilled to create it. Mother tilting her head in a laugh, gold lips parted over too-white teeth. Her eyes outlined like a cheetah’s, her gold-painted lids a sharp contrast to the black. She looked fierce, ready to devour.

  “Great job, Father,” Cynfael spoke up. “Spilling your drink on her is sure to get us an invitation back.” He said it with casual indifference, but annoyance leaked through his words.

  Mother smiled at Cyn as if he had done something noble. His father chortled.

  Cynfael poured another drink. “She took it,” he said in a low tone after Alilion started bellowing at Mother again.

  My throat tightened. For some reason the idea of Snow’s accepting a gift from someone like him irked me. I thought she was more cautious than that, or at the very least not so naïve.

  Cynfael gauged my reaction. “I was surprised too. I thought she was going to be different.” He picked up a grape and played with it. “Perhaps she doesn’t like fire.” His smile was sharp.

  My eyes flared with heat, but I held myself in check.

  Mother seemed to notice the tension. She tipped her head my way. I gave her a forced smile and took a quick drink. She always seemed to suspect me of something.

  Her eyes flicked between the two of us. She leaned in. “It’s time, Cynfael. Tonight would be preferred.” An expression of iron resolve painted her face.

  Cynfael lowered his drink, surprise staining his face. He gave a grim nod.

  Fiddling with her pearl earring, Mother raised her voice over Alilion’s prattling. “Chayse, I’m sure Cynfael has told you about the task I have asked him to do.”

  “He has.” I speared another piece of pork but made no move to eat it. I glared at Cynfael. “I thought Snow was my responsibility.”

  She took a delicate sip of her wine, her eyes never leaving mine. It unnerved me how the wine was so similar in color to blood. A fitting drink for the bloody Queen, in all her glory and gore.

  “She is. But I thought you might have gotten too close to her.” She lowered her glass and seemed hesitant to explain further. It wasn’t to spare my feelings, I knew that well enough.

  If anything, she was protecting herself and her interests.

  She sliced her own meat into bite-sized pieces. “I can’t have anything go wrong with this one. I need an assured kill. I don’t think you are capable of that.”

  My hand tightened, whitening my knuckles. “So why tell me at all? Why not have him simply do it?”

  Mother took a small, measured bite, her fork catching the light. “I have my assurance, and you have a chance to prove me wrong. It’s either you or him. It doesn’t matter to me as long as I get what I want. ”

  “Another test, Mother.” I sighed and lowered my fork. “Another chance for me to disappoint you. I’m sure you don’t actually expect m
e to succeed.”

  She glanced at Alilion, who pretended to be absorbed with his food. After first tapping daintily at her mouth with a napkin, she set it aside and folded her hands. Behind her demure expression lurked an unforgiving hardness. “No,” she said. “I don’t.”

  I sat stunned for a minute. For years Mother and I had skirted around our differences and her indifference to me. She had never been so blunt about it before.

  I stood up. If she wasn’t going to pretend anymore, neither would I.

  “I’d say good evening, but it’s been anything but,” I said, stepping away from the table.

  Cynfael smirked and saluted me with his drink.

  Mother almost rolled her eyes. “Where are you going?”

  “To get you your bloody heart, Mother,” I said, taking my leave of the stifling tent. I didn’t look back. I didn’t want to see whatever expression crossed her too-perfect mask of a face. She would have her heart. And then I could finally be free of her constant disapproval.

  The air was brisk and instantly chilled me. It was late and quiet; most of the performers seemed to have turned in with the anticipation of an early morning. The silence was stifling, and anger welled up inside me. I wanted to scream, hit something. Or someone. Cynfael hadn’t followed me for once, which was fortunate for him.

  Every breath felt raw. Hot tears fell. I blinked through them, trying to keep the slightest bit of control, but my body shook with the effort. I was unravelling. I couldn’t do that.

  With a shake of my head and a growl in my throat, I ran away from the tent. Running toward Snow. Everything was blurred and shaky. Liquid fire ran through me, consumed me. I tried to quell it, but it dripped from my fingers only to sputter out with a sharp hiss on the cold dirt.

  I hated her. Always I had wanted my mother’s approval and seemed incapable of grasping the idea that it was forever out of reach. I hated how a look from her could make me feel like nothing. How I could never be what I was supposed to be.

  It was Snow’s fault. She made me weak. If I killed her, I would win. It was always supposed to end this way.

  There had never been a chance for us. It was time for both of us to accept that.

  I slowed as I got closer to her trailer. The lights were still on. The low buzz of voices could be heard, muffled and gruff. I wiped at my face. My skin was icy, but I couldn’t feel the cold.

  A sharp yell broke through the murmured voices. “Let me go!”

  I stiffened and got ready to spring at the trailer. The door flew open, hitting the side, and Snow fled down the steps, a bag in her hand, her sweater half-on. The dwarves spilled out behind her, protesting. “Snow, come back!” Their voices intermixed.

  She looked back but ran faster. Genuine fear tracked across her face—the apple had done its job. Just as Cynfael had promised.

  A world of monsters awaited Snow.

  She ran through the heart of the circus, the dwarves trailing behind her, pleading. I followed them from the shadows. Snow’s eyes darted from trailer to trailer as if unseen horrors hid around every corner. Her reaction didn’t surprise me. She was seeing behind the curtain. Her life had been protected by a glamour keeping her ignorant of the horrors that surrounded her. One bite from the apple had changed everything.

  What would she think of me, of all the people she thought she knew? If her reaction to the dwarves was any indication, I would horrify her. Mother would relish her fear, feed on it. Pangs of sympathy wrenched my heart as I watched her tear her way through the trailers. I could try to explain it to her, try to comfort her.

  I held her life in my hands. She would be at my mercy. Was this what made Mother indifferent to them? The power, the taste and feeling of it?

  I tried to swallow it down as I followed Snow to the Big Top. A strange place to take refuge. I pushed back the rough burlap flap and stepped inside.

  Snow stood in the middle of the ring, her eyes fixed on the wire. Most likely going over her performance in her head. The moment she had always deserved.

  “You were brilliant. You always were.”

  The words slipped out. I needed her to know. I needed her to hear it from me, before the thick glass that had always separated us shattered.

  She glanced at me but seemed hesitant to look at me straight on. Her knuckles whitened as she clutched her bag. “Are you one too?”

  I almost wanted to lie, to tell her what she wanted to hear. “One what?” I asked, faking ignorance as I tried to approach without making her run.

  She faced me. “One of the fae. Or whatever they’re called.” Her eyes flickered in the torchlight. “Teddy told me . . .”

  “What did he tell you?” Not everything, because there was only so much the dwarf would know. But it was enough to make her panic.

  “He told me that everyone in the circus isn’t . . . human.” She shifted her bag in front of her like a shield. “It sounds made-up, crazy. I wouldn’t believe it, but . . . I saw them. Teddy and the others. They all looked different. ” Fear filled her face as she searched the shadows beyond the torchlight. “There were others too. Outside. They were horrible, twisted, and had yellow eyes.” Her voice shook as she pushed hair away from her face.

  She was describing the goblins. Of which there were plenty milling about the grounds. Not the best examples of fae. They were enough to scare anyone. It would be harder to explain to her that they were the harmless ones.

  The beautiful ones held all the teeth.

  “None of this makes any sense.” Her face crumpled. “I don’t know what to think.”

  I stayed silent. I didn’t have anything to say that would help.

  Her wet eyes met mine. “Did you know?” She shuddered and stepped back. “Are you one of them?”

  I swallowed my lie. “Yes,” I whispered.

  Her breath hitched. “You don’t look any different. Everyone else looks different.” She looked almost hopeful, like maybe I was mistaken.

  “It’s a clever illusion,” I said.

  Snow looked confused. “What is?” I could smell the fear on her.

  “All of it. The circus. Me.” The truth was sharp and cut my tongue as it slid off.

  She took a shaky breath and seemed to shrink. “Is that why you wanted me to leave?” Her voice shook, but she kept her jaw firm.

  “Yes.” It felt good to be able to voice it, to admit something. Even if it wasn’t what I should be admitting. She hadn’t even seen my other form yet, but the fear in her eyes was too much for me. I never wanted her to fear me. But I had to use it. This was my chance to save or destroy her.

  I bared my teeth. My vision sharpened, and Snow’s scent was heightened by her fear. “Nothing is what it seems. You are marked for death.”

  Snow’s wet eyes filled with mixed emotions. She stumbled as she fell away from me.

  My body pulsed with heat, but I felt no pain. All of it was a part of me. “I’m supposed to kill you, Snow. You were always supposed to die.”

  Fear turned to terror. She trembled, a mouse before a cat.

  “You have to run, Snow,” I grated out, the heat and fire pushing through.

  She stayed, eyes unblinking.

  I sprang at her and forced words out in a roar even as my voice was taken from me. “Run!”

  At last she turned, she fled. Fleeing the monster I had always been.

  Chapter Twelve

  Snow

  Chayse’s flashing green eyes darkened, turning almost black, his pupils mere slits and foreign. Smoke poured from his mouth and hairline cracks formed on his skin. He was turning into someone—something—unrecognizable. Heat came off of him in waves. His skin pulsed, as if struggling to contain the inferno. White hot fire flowed out from the coal-stained fingers I had always been careful never to touch.

  I stumbled back. An elemental creature stood before me, something from a dream or nightmare. Fire raged from his skin, igniting his clothes. His skin blackened wherever the flames touched. He was wavering with heat an
d burning, like a wildfire but something much darker and fiercer.

  His mouth twisted, teeth flashing. The edges of my vision blackened with terror. They had told me, warned me that nothing was as I thought. The entire circus was full of them, and Chayse was one of them. He had always been one of them.

  “Run!”

  His hot breath hit my face even as he lunged at me, a mess of smoke and fire.

  I ran, not daring to glance back.

  I pushed through the rough canvas. The wind’s icy fingers slapped my face and blinded me. Tears formed and slid down my cheeks. I didn’t stop them. I couldn’t. I wasn’t in control of my movements. I ran blind, not caring about the dark or the cold.

  My foot snagged and I caught myself. He hadn’t followed me. Stopping in an open field that was still too close to the circus, I choked on my own breath and dug my nails into the soft skin of my palms. The pricks of pain helped bring everything back into focus.

  Fae existed. The circus was run by fae. It was run by Chayse’s mother. She was a queen . . . or something close to it. Would that make Chayse a prince? A laugh bubbled up at the thought, but I swallowed it. I would not succumb to hysteria.

  Everyone in the circus owed the Queen a debt. They served her willingly or not. Teddy had gotten at least that much out before the other guys cut in with their own explanations.

  This didn’t explain me—the lone human in this strange, grim world. I had been here since I was born, and I was human. The boys—the dwarves—they didn’t really know why I was here or what I was being kept for. I was under the Queen’s protection.

  “But why?” I whispered, the words a breath on the cold air.

  Something snapped in the darkness. I jumped and cast a wary look around. Nothing.

  Chayse had said something about me being . . . marked for death . . . and that he was meant to do it. He was supposed to kill me. Why now? What good was I dead or alive to them? None of it made sense.

  “I realize you are new to this, but I should think even human girls would know better than to run off at night.”