“You must make peace with your crime,” I choked out. “From the Justice Gate.”
Garrick jerked back. He searched my face. Whatever it saw, it scared him. That was fear in his beautiful, beloved turquoise eyes. He was right to be afraid.
I might be right back where I had started. But I was not the same.
CHAPTER 38
GARRICK
Before
I was farfrom a master of poisons. The fae did not use them. They were more creative in their methods of killing. They had to be. There were no known poisons in Velora from which a fae could not recover. A few could incapacitate them temporarily. Those effects were more exaggerated now, with magic dwindling away.
But in the decades since I’d left Balar Shan, I’d learned many new ways to kill. Humans were easier than fae. Fragile, really. They let me move among them, completely unaware of the threat my lineage posed. The rounded shells of my ears protected me. Not that the feeble humans left on this continent would have stood much of a chance, had they known what I was.
They mistook wealth for strength. They did not understand true magic or power.
Jarrin of Combra leaned back in his seat, rubbing one hand over his stomach. It was slightly distended, his belt tighter than it needed to be to emphasize the bulge. Bulk equaled wealth. He could afford to eat.
“Garrick the Red, at my table,” Jarrin said. Finished rubbing his stomach, he took to tapping it with his fingers in a pattern as he spoke. “Auspicious, if not somewhat unnerving.”
I dipped my chin and lifted the glass of wine to my mouth. It was watered. “I am honored by your hospitality.”
“We appreciate you not making a fuss about the weapons,” Jarrin winked. “Can’t have you stabbing us over the dessert.”
I shifted in my seat. It could do with a cushion, but those luxuries had been sold off generations ago. I wasn’t uncomfortable, anyway. I adjusted my position to reassure myself of the weight of the bow, still in its sling across my back. I’d let them have the arrows. Without them, the bow wasn’t dangerous.
I did not need a weapon to kill every single person at the table. But that was not necessary. Nor was the death of every person. That was not the brief. I would not have accepted it if it were. My objection was not to the woman seated at the table. Women were just as capable of depravity as men. But her belly was rounded, near term. A rarity in Velora these days. I did not kill children.
Jarrin dominated the conversation. At his left was his wife. Beyond her was his father-in-law, an elderly man. Another rarity on this continent. At Jarrin’s right was his business partner, Amero, the steward of the river that powered Jarrin’s mill. He was the only guest at the table, beside me, who was not directly related to Jarrin.
The food was bland. I could have made better over a campfire. But the seasonings I imported from my homeland across the sea were rare in Velora before the curse. Or so I’d been told. My mother and I had arrived when Velora was already well in its grip.
Across the table, the young mother-to-be ate quietly. Her brothers, one at my side and one at hers, spoke often. They hadopinions about how their father ran his business. They would make trouble if the paperwork was not in order. Paperwork was not my problem.
I suffered through three courses of food. True wealth would have served seven. But while Jarrin and Amero were wealthy by the standards of Velora, there was simply not enough food to be bought. Potatoes could only be served in so many ways. Game came into the market so rarely that even if you had the money, you might not be lucky enough to buy it.
Finally, the dessert wine was served.
The bottle was familiar. Identical to the one I’d taken from Jarrin’s cellar three days before. If I had not disposed of the original myself, I might have questioned whether the switch had even been made.
The maid poured small portions, as I’d expected. Jarrin was not going to waste an entire bottle on his family in his attempts to impress me. Small didn’t matter. Hexblight was a powerful poison.
“A toast,” Jarrin said, lifting his tiny glass of delicate amber wine. “To our esteemed guest. May we never have need of your services.”
Every person lifted their glass; even the pregnant daughter and elderly father-in-law. The wine was a special treat, and such a small amount could not do any harm.
I drank, too. Hexblight had no impact on me. I was half-fae, after all.
I leaned back in my chair. I did not use hexblight often, but its effects were predictable. I counted in my head. By five, the pregnant woman and her grandfather were sagging. Then Jarrin’s wife, sons, and Amero. Jarrin himself was last, thanks to that little bit of extra bulk he was so proud of. He had the presence of mind to look my direction, just for a moment, before his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped forward.
I finished my wine.
The maid who’d poured would not come back for at least an hour or until she heard screams. I’d paid her more than enough to ensure it.
I kept counting. I was around sixty when Amero roused, right on time.
He blinked for a few seconds, his eyes bleary. There was one antidote to hexblight, effective if taken within an hour before ingestion. Amero had taken it a few minutes before his arrival at the meal.
