Jonas lifted his chin after Raum spoke. “Skadi?”
I didn’t respond. My attention was drawn to dark berries on the tray. The outer skin glistened as though soaked in a glaze, but the pockets of seeds on the top were white as pearls. Sweet venom.
The shrubs grew in the wood of Natthaven, the berries sweet and used for delicate cakes and thick syrups in the palace. Rare and only expert hands sought to cook with sweet venom, for any touch of the stem, leaves, or greenery was toxic to the mind. An unstoppable poison that made the victim . . .
Damn the hells. It caused violent convulsions until their hearts gave out.
What was an elven berry doing here?
“Where did you get those?” I pointed at the venomous berry, voice sharp.
The woman from the cooking rooms paused. “They were arranged, I thought it was for the morning meal.”
They will blame you.
Look for me when he falls.
All gods, no.
Jonas lifted a brow, befuddled, and reached for the tin of herbs at his side.
“Jonas! Stop.” Frigid damp coated my palms. The mists of my affinity flowed like diaphanous ribbons off my palms.
Several of those who were seated jumped back when the darkness wrapped around the prince’s settings—the herbs, the drinking horn near his plate, the tin with steaming water. All of it faded into nothing.
I tossed my palms aside, and from a cloud of darkness, every piece I’d stolen clattered over the stone floors of the hall.
I rushed to the mess of plates and food. “Bleeding hells.”
“What is it?” Jonas crouched by my side, everyone from the table at his back.
I used my robe to cover my fingers and pinched some of the leafy herbs, crushed to appear as a fresh tea. “This is called sweet venom. Itgrows on Natthaven and it’s deadly.”
Someone gasped in the hall.
Jonas’s jaw flexed. “How did you know?”
“I . . . I received a note that told me to”—blood drained from my face—“someone told me they’d be there whenhefell. Gods, I think someone was coming for me.”
I abandoned the mess and sprinted for the door, thoughts in a fog.
“Skadi! Wait.” Jonas followed me up the staircase toward our wing, taking the stairs two at a time.
I didn’t stop. My side of the chamber was empty. There was no one in the wardrobe, no one waiting to tear me away inside the sitting room.
“Will you tell me what is going on?” Jonas bent to the floor when I peered under the bed.
“I don’t know, but . . .” Words died when I peered out the window.
There, tucked beside the blossom coated archway that led into the gardens was a man crouched near a hedge, uncoiling what looked like a rope. I could not see his face beneath a woolen cowl, but he did not appear to be one of the gardeners.
“There.” I pointed through the glass. “Gods, he’s there.”
Jonas looked to where I pointed. He took out the dagger on his belt and went for the door.
“No.” I scrambled after him. “He could hurt you.”
Jonas spun on me in the doorway. “The only one who will be hurting is him. Stay here.”
