A Poison Dark and Drowning (Kingdom on Fire #2)(31)

“Do you know how to handle it?” he asked.

“It can’t be too different from a warded blade,” I said, though not with much confidence. Strangewayes’s book had detailed the two sides of the blade—upperside for a blunter edge, downwind for the bottom, extremely sharp edge—but hadn’t gone to the trouble of explaining how best to use the damned thing. It had to be like any normal dagger, yes?

Probably not.

“Gently,” Magnus said, reaching back. We parried, and the blades met.

When the edges touched, a violent, invisible force shoved me back onto the ground, my skirt and petticoats flying about in a damned unladylike fashion. Magnus kept his feet better than I did. Swearing, he helped me up.

“I don’t want to use the scythe,” Dee said, dropping the thing like it would bite him. I examined the little dagger; what the devil did one do with such an insignificant item? I turned my eyes to the lantern, still pulsing with light.

Given our luck so far, I decided I’d rather not play with it.

Sighing, I picked up the bone whistle. It was the only thing here, besides the lantern, not made of that strange orange-gold metal. Finger holes had been carved along the length of it, for playing tunes.

Oh God, rather like the flute. Making a face, I put it to my lips.

“Everyone prepare.” Blackwood put his hands over his ears. Valens’s pen stopped, and I blew.

Absolutely nothing happened. I tried again, once and twice. Nothing. Not a sound.

“Well. At least it’s completely useless as opposed to hatefully murderous,” Magnus grumbled.

“Off to a good start, then?” Dee asked hopefully.

Valens continued scribbling, wearing a satisfied smirk.





By late afternoon, we’d exhausted the weaponry. Dee did attempt the scythe, as he was the only one of us big enough to properly wield it. He appeared to handle it well. However, the scythe made a muffled, sobbing sound as it slid through the air, rather like a crying child. The noise was so miserable that I begged him to stop and Blackwood had to leave the yard.

“That was…fascinating,” Dee managed as the four of us made our way out of the barracks. He sounded like he was thanking me for a rainy garden party.

“It was dreadful,” I said. No point trying to pretend, especially with how ill everyone was. My vision had blurred as we’d progressed through the day, and now there was a persistent ringing in my ears. I’d had to step behind the barracks at one point, press my forehead against the wall, and wait to see if I would vomit. Dee had thrown up, becoming sick inches from Valens’s shoes. Magnus’s nose had begun gushing blood for no reason. As for Blackwood, I’d never seen him more wild-haired or wild-eyed.

Our bodies had to adjust to handling the weapons. We all sensed it, and it made me horribly uneasy.

“We need something to lift our spirits.” Magnus clapped a hand on Dee’s shoulder. “Come to my mother’s for tea.”

“Tea?” Dee sounded faint with longing. My stomach growled, rudely butting into the conversation. Still, stomachs had a way of talking good sense.

“Would it be wrong to turn up uninvited?” Blackwood sounded as though he was looking for an excuse not to go. But tea.

“Nonsense. I invited you.” Magnus extended his hand to help me into the carriage. Perhaps I should have gone back home to continue reading up on the weapons. But my stomach growled again, winning the argument. And as Dee was practically drooling, it seemed impolite to say no.

As the carriage came to a halt outside the house, my stomach knotted up. Meeting new people always unnerved me.

“Are you sure your mother won’t mind?” I asked for the tenth time as Magnus helped me out of the carriage, Dee and Blackwood following behind.

“There’s nothing she loves more than company.” He swung open a little iron gate and gestured us to follow him. Magnus’s mother lived in a small redbrick house, on a quiet but pleasant street. A gravel path cut across a bright square of lawn to the entrance. When Magnus knocked, a maid opened the door. Her hair was streaked with gray, and she squinted at us over a pair of spectacles.

“Polly, my dear,” Magnus crowed. “How are you?”

“Mister Julian! And guests! Come in, come in!” She waved us into the foyer, fluttering about so much that I feared she’d fall over. “I’ll summon the mistress,” she said, and hurried off up the stairs.

I smiled as I untied my bonnet. “She’s very enthusiastic.”

“Yes. Very,” Blackwood murmured in that disapproving tone. Of course, in his house the servants were expected to be emotionless, elegant, and efficient, the three Es of servitude. I gave him an exasperated look.

“Polly loves my visits home.” Magnus threw his hat with admirable ease onto a peg by the door. And why shouldn’t he feel easy? He’d grown up in this house. His childhood memories were soaked into every corner of every room.

I wished I knew what that was like.

“This is delightful.” I looked about. Having lived in Agrippa’s and Blackwood’s homes, I now saw this place as less grand and more comfortable. The walls were papered blue with faded gold flowers, and peeling at the upper corners. Hardwood floors shone from enthusiastic waxing, even if they were a bit worn.

Listen to me, critiquing a fine London home. Yes, I’ve changed quite a bit, I thought, irritated with myself.