Page 89 of A Touch of Poison
Her poison.
“Come with me.” I had to place a hand at the small of her back to get her to obey. “It’s all right.”
But she shook her head over and over, staring at the ground a few feet ahead. “The roses. I killed them. That whole plant—gone.”
“It’s all right,” I murmured in the low, soothing tone I’d used with my father on his bad nights. “The gardeners will clear it up.”
The sharp creases between her eyebrows cut deep. She held up her gloved hands as though only now truly seeing them. “I am death walking.”
She wasn’t even hearing me, not really. So, I rubbed her back and ushered her along. Maybe showing her would work where telling her didn’t.
The palace hothouse loomed from the darkness, a ghostly set of glass towers that glowed from within.
Her breaths had calmed by the time we reached its doors and, arms folded, she peered up as we entered.
The thick, humid air hit us. Tropical trees with broad leaves soared into the darkness, and around us ferns lined the path. Buzzing insects blanketed the building with their hum, like a calm version of the magic running through the River Velos. Pale orchids grew on the trees, adding their vanilla scent to the air.
Instead of fae lights drifting along to show the way, blue and violet glowing fungus encrusted the trees and fallen trunks, and tiny flowers with nodding heads spilled motes of glimmering pollen. It drifted as we moved, sparkling with each step as it rose around us.
Her mouth fell open as she took it all in. Her tears had stopped.
Watching her experience it all—the way she took in a long breath of air scented with dampness and growth, and the sweet pollen—heightened every sensation. She made the tree’s shadows darker, the glowing mushrooms brighter, the heady smell more intoxicating.
She moistened her lips, and I found myself caught up in that simple gesture. “What are all these plants for? Do you eat them? Or use them for dyes? Why build this whole glasshouse and go through the trouble of magically heating it?”
There she was. My practical ember. Although, if it distracted her from poison, I would accept practical.
“One thing I realised during my time in your country is how humans and fae are different.” I set a slow pace along the path, keeping my hand on her back, enjoying her warmth through the sheer lace. “We have an inherent cultural appreciation of beauty, in art and nature. It’s why we favour human artisans—if they can already create beauty, we want to enhance that and see what heights they can achieve.”
She made a soft sound, but said nothing.
“There’s beauty in stories, music, song, dance, people… in physical love, as well as emotional.” Even if it could devastate—I couldn’t deny its beauty. “In passion of all kinds.”
Her brow creased. “So, they aren’t tropical vegetables?”
I chuckled. “If we only grow vegetables, what will we look at while we dine? What will give us a reason to eat? Why bother living for tomorrow if not for things that feed our souls?”
The crease deepened as her gaze skipped from plant to plant.
“There is beauty in the world, Kat. And beauty has a value.”
She snorted and eyed me sidelong. “I was asked to spy on you because of my looks. Don’t you think I know it has value?”
Was that all she saw? What she had that someone would pay for?
“Not that kind of value. Not the kind that is used or paid for or coveted.” I splayed my fingers across her back, enjoying the way it made her draw a quick breath. “I mean,inherentvalue.”
She pursed her lips, making a faint sound that said she either didn’t understand or wasn’t convinced. Yet the hothouse plants still held her attention, so maybe deep down she knew.
“Beauty can keep us going. It gives us a reason to live and fight.” My chest tightened with the heavy truth of it. If not for being able to take pleasure in life, I would’ve given up long ago.
This was why I needed her to understand.
“It is a balm for the soul.” My voice came out rough and raw, and her gaze jerked to me.
Her eyes gleamed with turquoise and violet light. The closeness of her attention—the softness of it—almost silenced me.
“It is a balm for the soul, no matter how broken that soul may be. It issomething. And when you have nothing left, even a scrap of something is important.”
