Poison Tree

by Amelia Atwater-Rhodes

  CHAPTER 7

  ALYSIA WAS IN motion before she knew what had wakened her. She made the first several attacks blind, while still blinking the sands of sleep from her eyes. Her mind registered things like movement, the flash of eyes—and a weapon. By the time she recognized the intruder, she had him pinned to the ground with an arm across his windpipe.

  She slapped Christian upside the head as she pushed herself to her feet. He was lucky she hadn’t been able to get a hand to the knife she had glimpsed at his waist.

  No, not lucky. He knew her style well enough that he would have been careful to keep her from any weapons until they both knew she wasn’t trying to kill him.

  “Jerk,” she said with a smile. “That door was locked for a reason.”

  She offered him a hand up, unsurprised by his sudden appearance in her bedroom. She had given him enough information to track her down if he chose, and had suspected he would follow through as soon as he got over being simultaneously surprised and pissed that she had surprised him.

  As he rose, he said, “Was it really?” He took a moment to straighten out the leather jacket he wore and to check the security of items beneath. He might have left his crossbow at home, but Christian was never unarmed, not even in the heart of SingleEarth.

  Alysia looked at the clock and then turned back to him with a halfhearted glare. “Five in the morning? Really?” She sat back down on the bed, finger-combing hair out of her face. There wasn’t even a hint of light outside her windows.

  “I didn’t want to stay up much later,” he replied, “and I wanted a chance to catch you alone.”

  He reached into his jacket to retrieve a slender package; unrolling it, he revealed the three bolts Alysia had given him at Onyx. “Am I right that these are yours?”

  She nodded tiredly. That had been the final joy the day before—discovering that someone had broken into her room. She hadn’t unpacked anything but her laptop before the attack, so she didn’t know exactly when the bolts had been stolen, but the lax security at Haven #4 would have left plenty of predictable opportunities while she was being shown around the campus.

  She fished a key out from between the mattresses and tossed it to Christian.

  Christian knelt down to open the innocent-looking trunk, where two framed photos lay nestled among sweaters—one of Alysia’s mother in Paris, and one of her father with his girlfriend in Key West. The photos sitting side by side seemed to give the illusion that the individuals within would ever choose to be in the same room together.

  Without needing to be told, Christian pushed the sweaters aside to reveal a false bottom, under which were Alysia’s real treasures: an Onyx crossbow, with its arms collapsed for storage; three slender metal stakes, each with its own adaptations to make it better suited for fighting; and a set of daggers. Each weapon represented a hard-earned rank in one of the Bruja guilds.

  “You’ve kept them in remarkably good condition for someone living at SingleEarth, but you’re likely to lose them if you keep putting them into other members,” Christian remarked.

  “I didn’t—” Alysia drew a deep breath, biting back her defensive retort as someone knocked on the door.

  What now? She was halfway across the room before she thought to glance back to confirm that Christian was swiftly concealing the weapons again. “I’m coming,” she called out.

  She opened the door prepared for the worst and found Lynzi there, wearing pajamas and an assortment of jewelry that seemed at odds with her appearing otherwise recently awakened.

  Her gaze went instantly to Christian as she asked, “Is everything okay here?”

  “Yeah,” Alysia answered, struggling to both wrap her brain around why Lynzi was there and come up with a good excuse for Christian’s presence.

  “Morning. I’m Lynzi,” she said, offering her hand.

  Christian glanced at Alysia as he shook Lynzi’s hand and said, “Nice to meet you. Alysia, are all your friends such early birds?”

  It was a struggle for Alysia to keep her face straight as she realized that she could at least cross Christian definitively off the list of possible shooters. As she had told the others, any Onyx member planning that hit would have done research first.

  Christian had obviously forgotten to do his research.

  “I sleep lightly,” Lynzi explained with a gentle smile. Her tone was still utterly modest and sweet as she added, “I also sleep across the hall, and your veiling is terrible.”

  Christian pulled back his hand abruptly, his eyes focusing on Lynzi for the first time as he realized she was more than the kid she seemed.

  “Your veiling is very good, I gather,” he replied.

  Veiling was a technique used by witches to make their aura look like something else—usually human. Mortal witches could veil to an extent, but Tristes were the best at it.

  “You’re Alysia’s friend who was training with Pandora?” Lynzi asked.

  Seeing Christian’s normally impeccable cool broken was fun—and useful, since it was solid evidence that he wasn’t responsible for the recent carnage—but it still left Alysia watching the conversation fatalistically.

  SingleEarth was all about forgiveness and new beginnings. Lynzi didn’t need to believe Alysia had always been innocent—just that Alysia’s life in Bruja was over. And she would believe it, unless Christian said something to contradict Alysia.

  I know you’re angry with me, Christian, she thought desperately, trying not to fidget, but please don’t screw this up.

  As if he had heard her thought, Christian glanced at Alysia again, this time to check what to say. When she nodded slightly to confirm that she had in fact told Lynzi about a Triste friend, he said, “She knew Pandora had offered to train me. I hadn’t made the decision before the last time we spoke.”

  “So it’s been a while,” Lynzi surmised. “I gather you’re the friend she ran into at Onyx?”

  “I was shocked as hell to hear her say she was with SingleEarth,” Christian admitted, “but Alysia has always been full of surprises. I gave it some thought and decided I might as well look into this attack she mentioned.”

  Lynzi nodded. “I’m going to get dressed,” she said, “and then I would be happy to show you around the attack area, to see if you have any theories.”

  “Alysia could do—” Christian broke off in the face of Lynzi’s even, determined gaze. “Sure,” he said instead.

  “I’m right across the hall,” Lynzi said before stepping back out of the room.

  Alysia snickered as the door closed behind Lynzi, and started rummaging through her bags for clean clothes. “How much would Pandora kick your ass for that mistake?” she asked.

  Christian had been human when she’d seen him last, but even then, he would have kicked himself to next Sunday for making such a stupid assumption. Just because someone looked young and harmless didn’t mean she was either of those things.

  Christian turned away as Alysia changed from sweats and a T-shirt to dress pants and a chrome-blue button-down. They had lived in close enough quarters that she didn’t have a lot of modesty around him, but the fact that he looked elsewhere said a lot. There weren’t many people Christian would turn his back for.

  “Are you here on a job?” he asked.

  “Not a Bruja job,” she answered. “I know it’s hard to believe, especially since the circumstances make me look guilty as sin, but I’m here as exactly what they think I am.”

  “A SingleEarth mediator?” Christian asked, incredulous, turning back toward her. “You expect me to believe that? Alysia, you eat adrenaline for breakfast and commit felonies for an afternoon snack. At least, that was the you I knew two years ago—before you disappeared. In the middle of the night. While I was sleeping. I thought you were dead, Alysia.”

  She winced. How could she even begin to explain the last two years? She could explain why she’d left, she supposed. He deserved that much.

  “I got a call and went to a meeting for a private contract.
It turned out to be most of the guild leadership—Adam, Crystalle, and Kral. They offered me seven figures if I could knock you off and make it look like an accident or a job gone south.”

  “What did you say?”

  “What do you think I said?” she snapped. “I told them to go to hell. In exchange, they doubled the money and put a public posting up in all three guilds—on me. I wouldn’t have lasted the week. I didn’t intend to disappear so long, but then I got involved here.”

  “And it didn’t occur to you to warn me that Bruja leadership was trying to have me killed?” Christian asked.

  “You …” Alysia trailed off, unsure how to phrase her response. The leaders hadn’t put out a contract on Christian because they’d wanted him gone, they’d just wanted to see what she would do. They had made it clear that they believed she was the one rocking the boat and Christian was just along for the ride.

  “No, go on,” he said. “You refused a million dollars to kill me but then didn’t want to waste a minute calling?”

  “The contract wasn’t about you,” she bit out, “and you know it. Even when you and Kral want to kill each other, you’re obviously Bruja raised. I’m the one who came in and started trying to change the status quo. When I refused a million dollars to kill you, the leadership realized it meant that my loyalty couldn’t be bought. I knew that if I disappeared, they wouldn’t have any reason to go after you. I didn’t think they would come after me, either, as long as I was out of their way. But maybe I was wrong,” she added, thinking about the recent attack.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Christian said. “Sarta was pissed about the cabal against you, so she competed for and won guild leadership from Crystalle shortly after you disappeared. Then Adam lost the last Challenge—you should have seen the fight that went down there, before Ravyn picked up the Crimson leadership—and I won Frost. Kral’s still around, but his teeth aren’t as big without Adam and Crystalle worshiping him. You would have allies now. You can come back.”

  Alysia hesitated, remembering the rush of adrenaline after the attack. Christian was right that she wasn’t made for a sedentary life, but despite the two-million-dollar bounty on her head, she wouldn’t have stayed at SingleEarth this long if it hadn’t offered her something she hadn’t found at Bruja.

  She had joined Bruja when she was fifteen; it had appealed to her as an angry kid who liked to buck authority and challenge the world and didn’t care if she ever got a high school diploma. When she had started wanting to make something of her life, she had naturally used Bruja as an outlet. Christian had supported her, but he hadn’t really understood, just as he wouldn’t understand if she told him that she was now three semesters into a double major in psychology and political science at the University of Massachusetts.

  Lynzi rapped politely on the door once more, and Christian said under his breath, “There’s the babysitter. How old is she?”

  “About a thousand,” Alysia answered.

  “To answer your question, Pandora is going to kick my ass into the next decade,” Christian said as he opened the door. “You always did make me leap before I looked.”

  As Lynzi rejoined them, Alysia found herself simultaneously frustrated and relieved. The instant she had seen Christian at the Onyx Hall, two years had seemed to melt away. It could have been yesterday that they had been fighting side by side.

  But she needed to remember that those two years had passed.

  She wasn’t the same person she had been when she’d left Bruja, but Christian hadn’t yet realized that. She missed Bruja like crazy, especially on the dull days when she wanted to scream just to get her blood flowing, but she wanted more than the mercenary guilds could provide.

  I should be careful what I wish for, she thought as she followed Christian and Lynzi. She had wanted both Bruja and SingleEarth, but the only way those two groups would ever come together was with bloodshed.

  CHAPTER 8

  THE TWO MISTARI children, Jeht and Quean, were obviously brothers, with skin almost the exact same shade of dark russet, and straight black hair. As Sarik entered the enclosure that had been set aside for their use, Jeht prodded his younger brother to wake up, and greeted her: “Divai, ohne.”

  It was a respectful greeting, appropriate for a nearly adult Mistari speaking to a queen in her own territory. The words would have been accompanied by both boys rising to their knees if Sarik had not previously forbidden them from performing such acts of submission.

  A Mistari tribe could be run in many different ways, but it had taken Sarik only seconds upon meeting these boys to determine that they came from a tribe where the king’s word was the only one necessary to declare pardon or execution—and where the only way to challenge that word was a duel to the death. The hand-forged golden bands Jeht wore on his upper arms marked him as one of royal blood, even if his posture and direct-beyond-his-years gaze had not. He and his brother had been driven out of their tribe after the coup that overthrew their father.

  “Ciacin,” Sarik replied. In the boys’ native language, she continued, “How are you today?”

  “We are comfortable,” Jeht replied, focusing on Sarik, his Asian eyes a distinct golden green rarely seen outside the Mistari.

  Mark, the groundskeeper who had bonded with the boys and who supervised them—and their campfire—during the day, stepped forward as if to join the conversation. One gesture from Jeht, however, sent him scurrying away.

  Sarik raised a brow and remarked, “He isn’t your subject.”

  Jeht paused to consider the words, and then replied, “He does not seem to know that. He tends the fire. He makes us …” He paused, saying in English, “Cider.” He waited until Sarik nodded to confirm that he had said the unfamiliar word correctly. “He brings us our meals.”

  “He is trying to take care of you.” He sees you as children, she almost added. By the standards of the Mistari, Jeht was almost an adult. He and his brother were also princes. Calling him a child was not a good idea. She was going to have to talk to Mark about how to respond to the boy, who had to understand that this world didn’t revolve around concepts of master and subject, strong and weak.

  Instead, she said, “You and your brother have been here long enough that you should learn where you can get your own food.” Showing them the cafeteria would give them more independence and give them less of a sense that other people should wait on them. Jeht glanced back at the four-year-old Quean, who was watching them sleepily, and Sarik added, “I can show you first, and then you can explain to your brother later.”

  “As you wish,” Jeht answered. He trusted her word that the younger boy would be safe here.

  Unfortunately, this particular SingleEarth Haven was currently less safe than Sarik would have liked, even though Mark and the hunters were keeping a close eye on the tiger children.

  “While you live here,” she explained as she led the way, “you are allowed to have meals in the …” She didn’t know the word “cafeteria.” “A common kitchen and meal room. You can choose what you want.”

  She did not realize she had said something wrong until she felt Jeht hesitate beside her, and he said in a formal tone, “Sana’kaen.” Literally, the phrase meant “You make right,” but it implied that he was deferring to her authority despite disagreement or distress.

  Sarik thought back over her own words and realized what she had said. In the Mistari camps, he had probably eaten with his family and other high-ranking individuals. It wasn’t a tradition Sarik’s father had bothered with, so she didn’t think about it while attempting to translate the concept of a cafeteria. In Jeht’s mind, she had demoted him.

  “We do not eat by rank here,” she tried to explain. “Where and what and with whom you eat implies nothing about you or your status.”

  “Quean is very young,” Jeht said. “He will learn quickly. I do not want him to learn badly while we are here.”

  That was the other conversation that needed to be had.

  “Jeht �
�” Sarik drew a deep breath before saying, “I think it would be a good idea for you to learn the ways of this place. I am trying everything I can, but so far I have not been able to find a way to get you back to the Mistari camps.”

  Jeht froze, all expression draining from his face. She reached for him, wanting to be comforting, but he recoiled as he asked, “Then what will happen to us?”

  “You are safe here,” Sarik said quickly. “As I promised you before, you may remain here as long as you like. SingleEarth will provide teachers, so you can learn local customs, and the language. It is a good life.”

  “It is a good life for you, but it is not my life,” he replied.

  In many ways, their native language was much more explicit than English. The fact that he dropped the formal pronoun for her but used one for himself made his full meaning clear.

  “I will keep trying,” Sarik said, “but in the meantime, I need you to make an effort to—”

  “I wish to leave,” Jeht said flatly. “If you cannot help us, then we have a better chance of returning home if we do not accept charity from outsiders.”

  “You can’t just leave,” she protested. “You’re—” Children. “You don’t know how to survive here.”

  “Are we prisoners?” he inquired.

  She said it this time. “You’re children, in this society’s eyes. Even if you leave here, you will not be allowed to wander on your own. Someone will call the police again, like they did before, when you were first brought here.”

  She could see the fury in his eyes, but she could do nothing about it, except hope that he would be wise enough to believe her. Leaving SingleEarth would gain him nothing.

  It was a horrible thought, but she realized she was going to need to warn the hunters that Jeht could be just as dangerous as any outside threat. Even a Mistari child could be deadly in a fight, if he thought SingleEarth was keeping him and his brother captive.