Page 13 of A Touch of Poison
With a thud, Orpha hefted a stack of books on my desk.
There was no shift in the air as often came with powerful magic—just as Kat had felt on the bridge—but I caught the scent of scorched earth and woodsmoke. Ash and blood. Dust and age.
Old magic.
Yet the books looked as though they’d been bound yesterday—fresh leather and crisp gold leaf. The top one was a deep forest green with gold lettering across the front. Orpha explained how she’d snapped her favourite crowbar breaking through the chains, while I fingered the debossed design.
My heart thudded heavily in my chest as my mind skipped to Kat’s book and the way she’d touched it so reverently. Then to the sight of her earlier as she’d taken in her bedroom. The curve of her lips and the point of her chin. The unconscious gesture as she’d touched the glossy finish on the purpleheart wood furniture I’d chosen for her. I wasn’t sure she realised she’d grazed her fingertips across its surface, as though the richness of its colour called to her and she justhadto experience it.
But most of all, the sun hitting her hair, turning it aflame, so she looked like a phoenix rising from the dull ashes of the world.
I wasn’t meant to want her. I wasn’t meant to be this wrapped up in her, in the sight of her, the springtime scent of her, or the way she made me think of the crisp cleanness of fresh sheets or a new page.
But I was.
Good fucking gods, I was.
Whoever had made her marry that man, I wanted to disembowel them. Slowly.
Not that I was a better man. And not a more deserving one, either. Not after what I did in Lunden.
Yet I’d never have failed her as he had. I’d never have mistreated her in the dark as he had. Any destruction I turned upon her, I made into the little deaths that she made such sweet sounds for.
But I was a decade too late. Her husband was too fucking alive. And her country had marriage laws too barbaric to contemplate.
We’d taken a different path that had led here.
She’d spent ten years stuck in a crumbling estate. Ten years bound to a husband she hated. I didn’t want her to resent me in the same way.
Of course she resents you. You betrayed her. You used her.
The hurt had rolled off her before she’d let the poison in her system coat her tongue and unleash its sharpness on me. Just once. Just briefly. But it was enough.
She didn’t just resent me—she hated me.
Maybe it was for the best.
“Bastian?”
I blinked and found Orpha watching me, one eyebrow raised.
Completely fucking distracted. Stars above, what was wrong with me?
I cleared my throat. “The book.” Lifting it as if that was an explanation. Not a lie, since it had made me think of Kat. “What were you saying?”
“There’s another stack of books in here, but I don’t want to cover your desk. Where do you want me to leave them?”
I glanced at the next one on the pile, its blood-red leather hard to tear my eyes from.The Lore of the Land, it said in High Valens, one of our ancient languages.
It sounded like a useless collection of old tales rather than old secrets. I tossed the green book on top, glad to get it out of my hands. “Leave them with Brynan. He’ll find a home for them.” I dusted my palms together. “Was there anything else?”Please say no. I needed a moment alone.
“Nothing as exciting as the books.” She slipped a hazelnut in her mouth. “There was—”
“Put the rest in your written report.” My voice came out more clipped than I intended.
“Of course.” She stood, scooped the rest of the bowl’s contents into her hand, and hauled the bags over her shoulder. “I’ll send it later.”
I struggled to follow her progress out of the room, but knew she was nearly out by the door clicking open. “Orpha?”
