These collectors.
This society.
She’d not met them all, and most of whom she’d interacted with had been shadowed beneath hoods. But she could see them plain tonight. No one else in her travels had possessed such peculiar eyes: silver with an almost iridescent sheen. A color she recognized now.
The music maintained a mournful presence in the background as Lux stared into irises the exact shade of lifeblood.
Chapter forty-seven
Shecouldn’tovercomethejittery feel in her limbs. Her foot couldn’t be stilled. A sense of doom encroached. Of time running out. And Lux didn’t know what to do.
Mistress Farrentail had said she had a plan. What was it?
Attendants moved toward the tables, carafes steady in their hands. Nausea swirled in Lux’s gut as a girl hardly older than Lux herself stopped beside her, tipping a carafe gently above the table. A thin stream of silver poured into a miniature glass set next to her plate; it was barely larger than a thimble.
“Devil take them,” she whispered, deadened with rage.
“What was that?” said Corvin, dipping toward her. His breath brushed the shell of her ear.
She leaned away and held up the small glass. “Doesn’t seem like enough to last a meal.”
Corvin smiled at her, and it did not reach his eyes. “Don’t worry, we’ll serve you a good dinner wine. That’s a tonic for goodhealth and good luck. A tribute to another successful year and for the future ahead.”
Lux looked again into the glass. It glistened. Sparkled even. It was what she imagined starlight would be like if she could dip her hand inside their orbs. And she couldn’t tell: if this portion of lifeblood was paint or real. It certainly looked real.
Her eyes flicked up when a chair moved back. Farther down from Corvin, Artemis rose. He inclined his head solemnly at the assembly.
“Welcome all to Mothlock Manor. On this divine Hallowed Eve, the Society of Saints is pleased to be hosting yet another Hallowed Banquet. May the nourishment we take now remind us of our collective achievement. Our loyalty. Our faith. To our founding and our futures. May your mastery be limitless.”
Here was where Lux could tell they’d done this all before. In a single fluid motion, every person sitting before the tables raised their glasses.
“Cheers,” Corvin told her, tapping his against hers. “To our future, you and me.”
Death is here,her brilliance said.
And Corvin hardly touched the lifeblood to his lips when a scream ripped through the room.
The fumbled glass fell from his grip, shattering upon the floor. Lux put hers down carefully. All the while she stared aghast at the source of the scream: A woman, shaking, having leapt from her chair, her satin-covered finger pointed.
At a man collapsed over his empty dinnerware. Veins slowly grew stark against his skin.
Lux had seen this ending before.
Verity. The Maidenway Inn. A woman poisoned, a mark on her neck.
And Mothlock. The sanctum. A man beyond her reach.
Silas, that faithful dog, shot to his feet, a shocked rage plain upon his features. And Lux’s eyebrows met when a new thought occurred. How hadn’t he unearthed the poisoner with his brilliant skill? If he could track three scents outdoors in the wind and sea spray, surely he would have foundsomethingin a Loxlen townhome.
Unless—
Lux’s gaze slid discreetly to Mistress Farrentail. To her head full of feathers, and her mouth a perfect circle, seated beside the dead investor. Her words returned to Lux.
Bluebird feathers are good for covering your tracks.
Silas stalked toward the body while the woman holding tight to the back of her chair cried loud enough to carry throughout the room, “The elixir is poisoned!”
The rising chatter broke into a crescendo. Lux only just realized the music had ceased. All she could hear were indistinct voices and all she could see was Silas, drawing the slumped head aside to run a finger along the body’s neck.
