Five Poisoned Apples

by Skye Hoffert et al.

  The elegant voice sent a shiver through me. Cynfael.

  I tensed, ready to run again.

  “Scamper away if you must, but it will get rather tedious. I will just follow you.”

  I wiped at my cheeks and pulled out Lenny’s small knife before turning around.

  Cynfael had his hands raised in mock surrender, but I knew he was utterly unfazed by my threatening stance. What kind of creature was he? His azure eyes caught mine, laced with something in the realm of compassion or pity.

  I waved the blade in a curving arc. “Get back!”

  His eyes rolled, and he flicked an errant piece of hair out of his face. “A bit dramatic. If I wanted to hurt you, a piece of steel wouldn’t stop me.”

  My hand shook, but I kept my weapon raised. “Please . . . leave me alone.”

  He sighed and brushed his hand over his gold-threaded suit. “Usually I would be a gentleman and grant your pitiful request.” He squinted at me. “However, I can’t do that.”

  Tears threatened to fall. “Why not?” I demanded, hating how my voice broke.

  “Because she is going to kill you, Snow.”

  I stared at him, unable to comprehend at first. Unwilling to comprehend. But his somber expression confirmed it. He wasn’t twisting his words. This wasn’t a honey-dipped lie.

  I breathed in the icy air. “The Queen?” Chayse’s words and actions made sense now. He was following orders. Her orders.

  He nodded. “She wants your heart.”

  My fingers shook. The knife handle suddenly slid from my grasp, and when I tried to catch it, the blade bit into my palm.

  Cynfael hissed and leapt forward to twist the knife out of my grip before I could hurt myself worse. I watched it fall to the ground through blurred eyes. “Well, don’t make it easier for her!” he barked, grasping my hand so he could examine the wound.

  I tried to pull away, but he ignored my feeble efforts. “Why do you care?” I demanded, my hoarse voice lost in the wind.

  He looked up, and something flashed in his eyes, something indefinable. “I’m sorry. Should I not bind your wound?” Cynfael studied me a long moment then pocketed the blade. “I’m fae, if that is what you are asking.” He unbuttoned his suit jacket, his movements slow and methodical. “And yes, usually someone like you would be of little consequence.” With a shrug, he slipped out of his coat, revealing a well-tailored waistcoat and white silk shirt. “However, since you’re of use to the Queen, you’re of use to us.”

  He held out the coat.

  I stared at it. “Us?”

  Smirking, he stepped closer, close enough that I could smell the traces of smoke on him. He draped the coat over my shivering shoulders. “Chayse and a handful of other fae who are tired of the tyrant Queen’s reign.” He started to button the coat around me, but I slapped his hand away. He backed up with a roguish grin. “You are the only bit of leverage we have.”

  “Chayse is part of this too?” I asked, trying to look fierce, but I knew I probably looked pathetic and small, huddled inside his jacket. I pulled it close against the cold.

  “Yes.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out another apple. Just as ripe and red as the first. He tossed it between his hands.

  “How do you plan on using this leverage?”

  His smile looked lethal. “I already have.”

  I gaped at him. What could he do or what had he done, already? Madame’s disapproving and angry stare stuck in my mind. She hadn’t wanted me up on that wire. Her sudden animosity made sense. “That was you?” I asked in breathless disbelief.

  “Yes.” He seemed far too pleased with himself.

  “I could have fallen.” Saying the words out loud made the whole thing seem more real and terrifying. “I hadn’t practised. A fall from that height would have killed me.” The cold reality hit me. “Is that what you wanted?” My voice wavered.

  His smile diminished. “On the contrary, I wanted you to succeed. Your success was essential.”

  I tried to process his words. “That’s quite the gamble, and I don’t appreciate that my life was the one at stake.” Fear had given way to fury.

  He looked at me in his condescending way. “I’d say it was a safe bet. I saw you practice, remember. I knew you could do it.”

  His confidence in me was surprising. I doubted my own abilities. “Why didn’t you tell me? At the very least I could have prepared.”

  He shook his head. “Your ignorance is essential to the plan.”

  I glared at him and the apple. “Why is that?”

  “Because you are a pawn in a game played by far more powerful competitors.”

  “Yet I am the one who will take down the queen,” I said, standing straighter.

  “Yes,” he agreed. “But until she is off the board, a pawn is all you are.”

  “A pawn can become a queen,” I said.

  His eyes sparked. He worked his jaw. “If the right moves are made.”

  “What moves?”

  He smiled. “Apple?”

  “You think I’m that stupid.” I threw off his coat, letting it fall in a mound at my feet. “The first apple is what caused all this!”

  His jaw twitched, and his gaze flicked to his jacket now lying in the dirt. “You’re angry that I opened your eyes. That I showed you the truth of what was transpiring around you.”

  I didn’t have a response to that. I was angry, but I wasn’t sure where to direct my anger.

  He held the apple out again. “Don’t you trust me, Snow?”

  The fact that he thought I would trust him, or anyone, was laughable. I gave him a syrupy smile and grabbed the apple. For half an instant he looked uneasy, which confirmed my suspicions. This was another laced apple. How naive did he think I was to fall for it a second time? I brought the apple to my lips and breathed in its woody scent.

  Then I tossed it hard at him. He twisted to the side, and it glanced off his shoulder. “Did you honestly think that would work?” I yelled.

  He rubbed his shoulder. “I told him it wouldn’t.”

  “Who?”

  “You have a good arm.” Cynfael grimaced. Then he shook his head, speaking more to himself than to me. “He isn’t going to like this.”

  I stalked toward him. “Who are you talking about? Answer me?”

  He grabbed my arm in a viselike grip. “You should have taken the apple.”

  Before I could react, he pulled me closer. I tugged away, but he held me still with hands like iron. I glared up at him.

  His eyes glinted. “Sorry,” he whispered, his breath warm on my face.

  “What are—”

  My protest was lost as he leaned down and closed the gap, his lips capturing mine. My mind scrambled. I squirmed, fighting for purchase to break away from him. He’d trapped my hands between us, pressed tight against his chest. Stale smoke fogged my senses.

  I tried to scream, the sound muffled against his lips. Cynfael let go, and we stumbled back from each other. “I’m sorry, Snow,” he said.

  Yellow ringed his eyes, and the veins of his neck turned a sickly purple, almost black, traveling up to his lips where a black ichor oozed out, a grotesque slime.

  My vision blurred. I tried to focus. My body felt too weak to hold me. I wanted to scream again, but my mouth wasn’t working. And he stood there, watching me struggle. I touched my fingers to my lips, willing my voice to come out. My fingers came away coated with the purple slime.

  My throat tightened, and I struggled to catch my breath.

  The frosty ground seemed to rise up and hit me. Pain reverberated through my bones. I watched the gray sky above me darken. My screams for help tangled in my swelling tongue.

  Warm hands scooped me up, and Cynfael’s face filled my fading vision, his eyes an unnatural blue.

  “So it begins.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chayse

  Small rivulets of blood dripped out onto the hard ground. I held tight to the dripping sack.

 
My stomach roiled at the smell.

  I kept a good distance from the open field where Snow and Cynfael stood. I couldn’t get close enough to hear what they were saying. I could clearly see Snow brandishing a knife. She looked wild, almost fae-like.

  My small smile slipped as I saw her threaten Cynfael. That snake deserved it. Not every girl was going to fall at his feet. Especially not Snow. When exposed to a dangerous adversary, she came at him with everything she had, even if it was just a pocket knife.

  Respect flashed across Cynfael’s face, followed by bewilderment as the blade sliced her own skin. Beads of blood dripped down her pale hand, a blinding contrast.

  Cynfael took the knife and tried to bind her hand, but she was still fighting, her eyes like steel, her hands shaking. Cynfael seemed to pity her as he shrugged off his coat. I clenched my teeth when he gave it to her. How many times had I wanted to do the same, but didn’t? I’d kept my emotions in check for fear of my mother or her lackeys thinking I was partial to Snow. Seeing her wrapped up in his coat made me wonder why I’d ever cared what they thought.

  He pulled out the doused apple. One bite was supposed to knock her out for a few hours. I hoped it was long enough. If she woke too soon, we were all dead.

  But she wouldn’t eat it. She forced a sickening grin, and defiance glimmered in her eyes. She flung it at Cynfael.

  He glanced in my direction. He knew I was there watching. It hadn’t worked, just as I had predicted. Snow wasn’t stupid. Much though I hadn’t wanted to resort to violence, we had little choice. I started toward them. A hit to the head would suffice. Cynfael held her arm. If he kept talking to her, she wouldn’t even notice my approach.

  He pulled her closer, and heat built up in my throat and hands. He kissed her.

  I tasted ash.

  Snow, to her credit, fought him. He had her hands trapped, but she broke free. It was far too late; her lips glistened with purple venom. Her eyes locked on Cynfael in horror, and she tried to speak. Her eyes screamed as she ran her fingers across her poisoned lips.

  Then she fell, hard. Her limbs simply crumpled like paper. Cynfael shuddered and seemed to compose himself before he scooped her up. Her eyes were closed, and her body hung limp like a corpse in his arms.

  My vision blurred as I came up beside them. Cynfael held her out like an offering. “Now before you—”

  My fist connected with his jaw with a dull thud. Sparks and spit flew. He staggered and dropped Snow. His look of shock melted into a humorless smirk as he spat out blood.

  “Not so soft after all,” he said, lacking his usual bite.

  I unclenched and clenched my fists. “Is she . . . ?” I let the question hang as I hovered over her limp form.

  “Dead?” Cynfael finished. He rolled his eyes. “A little counterproductive, I should think.”

  A flame seared to life in my hand. “That wasn’t the plan.”

  He squinted at the fire I held and rubbed his bruised jaw. “I improvised. It seemed preferable to knocking her out.”

  I stepped closer. The flame grew, spilling off my palm to drip on the cold earth with a sputtering hiss.

  He stiffened, his only sign of fear. “It’s not like I enjoyed it.” His gaze flicked to Snow, crumpled on the ground. “I prefer my partners willing.”

  I could feel the fire rising and wanted to release it. He was more than deserving. But we were running out of time. I choked the anger back down and closed my fist, expelling the fire.

  Cynfael seemed to relax. “I did as asked. She’s out.”

  I squatted next to Snow, lifted her thin wrist, and felt for a pulse.

  Cynfael crouched with me. “This stasis won’t last.” He pushed a piece of hair off her face.

  “Don’t touch her!” I snapped, my voice tight and coiled.

  He complied, hands raised. “Did you get it?”

  I held up the bloody bag.

  Cynfael’s face twisted as the scent of fresh blood reached him. He grimaced and stood, taking care to brush off his suit. “Will it work?”

  “I got it from the yearling, so it should.” I didn’t bother to contain the bite of frustration in my words. I tossed the bag at him. He caught it but kept it at arm’s length. Ignoring him, I returned my attention to Snow, gently pushing her hair back. My fingers just grazed her cold skin—something I had never allowed myself to do before.

  “It would fool me,” Cynfael declared, having inspected the contents of the bag. He closed it again with a little shudder. “Shall we?”

  I scooped Snow up. She felt fragile, as if I could break her just by tightening my grip.

  Cynfael gave me a wry look. “What about transporting her? I don’t think parading what looks like a dead body through the circus is the smartest course of action.”

  “The magician’s boxes are all in use, but I found something.”

  He tilted his head. “Not the time to be cryptic, Hunter.”

  “It’s a tank used for the underwater tricks. She’ll fit.” I adjusted my hold on Snow; her hair brushed my arm.

  “So we’ll have a dead girl in a glass case then?” Cynfael’s eyebrows quirked in amusement.

  I didn’t bother to acknowledge his question. I simply turned and headed back toward the circus. Muttering under his breath, Cynfael followed. We kept to the shadows, but the circus was dead. Just like Snow was meant to be. The harsh wind kept everyone hidden in their respective tents.

  At least the stables were warm, the ground coated in hay. The animals huddled together, each in separate steel cages of various sizes. I stopped in front of the pigs. These weren’t for acts. They were kept for meat on the road.

  Cynfael coughed and put a silk handkerchief to his nose and mouth. “It smells vile!”

  I laughed. “You’re pretty squeamish for a fae prince.”

  He shot me an icy glare. “We happen to be civilized about our kills.” His eyes stopped on the body of a pig. I had sliced its neck. Its blood mixed with the fresh hay.

  “You mean you have people who do it for you,” I shot back, stopping in front of the velvet-draped box I had wheeled in earlier. At my nod, Cynfael stuffed his handkerchief back in a pocket. His face wrinkled in distaste as he pulled at a corner of the blanket. It slipped off the smooth side and pooled into a puddle of muted green in the hay. Cynfael shot me a questioning look before unclasping the hinged top and pulling back the lid.

  It looked like a coffin once I placed Snow inside. Her hair got caught in my fingers. It was so soft and looked like spilled ink on the white cushions I had stuffed in the bottom. The torchlight played on her skin, making it look sallow, and her face was wind-burnt, her lips chapped. She wasn’t what most people would call beautiful. But she looked raw and real. Something tangible.

  Something I needed.

  Cynfael came up beside me and passed me the bloody bag. “I suppose you get the honor of desecrating her body.”

  I glared at him but took the bag and watched the blood drip down on her still form.

  I ripped back the tent flap and held it open for Cynfael to push Snow through. “As you requested, Mother.” I spread my arms out, hoping she noticed the bloodstains on my sleeves and hands.

  Mother, nursing a glass of champagne, glanced up from her settee. The food had been cleared, and Alilion was notably absent. She lounged like a lazy cat, her pearl-studded dress shimmering in the dim candlelight. Her eyes looked glassy, but she pulled herself into a seated position. Her heavy gaze flicked over the two of us.

  At last she smiled. But it was all teeth.

  “Ah, so you weren’t being dramatic then, Chayse.” She took a sip, her eyes moving from us to the box. “You wanted to prove me wrong.” She set her glass down, her every movement calculated, her gaze never shifting from the box. “Have you?”

  Gone was the teasing tone. Whether it was the drink or her desperation, she wasn’t acting anymore.

  Cynfael pushed the box in front of her, and I flung the blanket off, sending a puff of du
st flying. I was in the ring—this was a show. The irony was, this time it was an illusion. I had to convince her that it was real.

  She tilted her head, looking hesitant and cautious. She was a player, always ready for a gambit. The toughest kind of mark, the one who could see the strings.

  I lifted the lid.

  Mother got up slowly as if trying to hide her eagerness. She peered into the box, hunger shining in her eyes at the sight of blood. Her fingers tightened on the edge of the box. Golden nails that tapered to dagger-like points tapped on the glass.

  I tried to show no reaction as she reached down and felt Snow’s neck for a pulse. Satisfied, she pulled her hand back.

  “I’m impressed, Chayse,” she said, turning to me and cupping my cheek with a cold hand. Her breath carried the sharp tang of alcohol. For once I was happy to smell it. “I knew you could do it. You’re my son. It’s in your blood.”

  The pride in her voice cut me. The only way to earn her love was to become as monstrous as she was. I had wasted years vying for her affection. Her cool fingers caressed my cheek, and I held back the urge to rip her throat out.

  She looked to Cynfael, who was standing by Snow’s supposed corpse. “It was him, right?” Her voice had a sharp edge, one that said a certain answer would have severe consequences.

  Cynfael seemed to find his voice and finesse. “He beat me to it,” he said in a light, carefree tone. “I am as surprised as you. Ol’ Chayse proved to be a killer after all.” He tucked his hands in his pockets and leaned on the box.

  She gave a happy hum as she surveyed Snow’s body. Then her hand went to her own face, where I glimpsed the faintest lines around her eyes. “It seems he just needed a little competition,” she said, her words dripping sugared poison.

  She cast one last smug look at Snow. “Where is her heart?” Her hands trembled as she spoke, and she interlaced her fingers to calm them.

  I lifted the sack out of the coffin. The blood was dried on the bottom of the burlap. I opened it and pulled out the fleshy mass. The fact that something as small and grotesque as a heart would now bring death to the Queen herself was fitting.