A Poison Dark and Drowning (Kingdom on Fire #2)(80)

He got up and went to where his grandmother’s portrait hung. Leaning against the wall, he said, “I blame myself for what happened. If I’d only told Agrippa, or the Imperator, when I knew Rook was transforming, maybe…” He didn’t finish his thought but looked at me again. “Then I remembered how you rushed up those stairs, like you knew what was at the top. Tell me.” He could barely get the words out. “Did you know what was happening to him?”

My composure finally shattered, and I wept. Magnus slammed his fist into the wall, the sound an explosion in the still house.

“What is it?” Blackwood hurried into the room.

“Nothing. Tend to your sister.” Magnus’s voice was dull and heavy. Blackwood looked wary of my crying, but he reluctantly obeyed.

Magnus strode over. “I want you to leave, Henrietta,” he whispered. Rage was in the deadly tone of his voice. He sat down on the sofa again and stared out the window. “Leave. Now.”

I nearly ran from the house. Eliza caught up with me on the pavement, slipping her hand into mine. I was grateful for her strength. We leaned against each other in the carriage on the way home. Blackwood sat across from us, gazing out the window and saying not a word.

When we arrived home, Blackwood went at once to his study. Walking to the stairs, I passed the spot where Fanny had died. Even though the blood had been cleaned, I could tell exactly where it had been. The precise place and moment where everything had changed.

Upstairs, I entered the study to find Blackwood sitting behind the desk, the pulsing glow of the lantern casting harsh shadows over his face, creating a chilling effect of dark sockets where his eyes should have been.

He picked up a gilt-edged book and leafed through it, looking as if he’d crawl into the pages to avoid me. Finally, he spoke.

“It’s not that you tried to help Rook. It’s not even that you rejected my proposal in favor of him.” A muscle jumped in his cheek. He was fighting some deep emotion. “But you lied again. I was a fool to think you’d changed.”

Right though he was, I’d had enough guilt today to last a lifetime.

“You might have told me you were ignoring Mickelmas’s orders about the weapons, you know.” I was on the verge of shouting. “You might have told me you were digging further into your father’s research, because…”

I stopped, for I still hadn’t told him about our shared family histories. Well, he was right about one thing. I hadn’t much changed at all. He slammed the book closed, causing an eruption of dust.

“I imagined you as my wife. My best self. I pictured Sorrow-Fell as a type of Eden, and you my Eve.” He sounded furious, and more than that, disappointed. “I was wrong.”

“Perhaps it’s for the best,” I said tartly. “Adam and Eve made a pretty pathetic end.”

Without waiting for his reply, I stormed out. Going down the stairs, I gripped the banister to keep myself upright. The butler awaited me below, a tray with the post balanced in his gloved hand.

“Miss Howel, a letter’s arrived for you.”

I thanked him and took the note, ripping the envelope with shaking hands. Immediately, I recognized a familiarly loopy script.


Howel,

Come at once.

Poison.

Lambe





I rushed to grab my cloak and bonnet, called for the carriage, and went straight out the door.

—

WOLFF AND LAMBE HAD TAKEN ROOMS in Camden, preferring privacy to life in the barracks. Their surroundings were humbler than most sorcerer boys would accept. Their neighbors were charwomen and stallkeepers, and the flat they shared was small. But they had made it their own, and quite comfortable.

Several paintings of countryside and waterfowl, amateurish by the look of them, lay against the wall waiting to be hung. A breakfast tray hadn’t been cleared yet, eggs congealing upon a plate, cold tea growing cloudy in a cup. In a corner of the sitting room, Wolff’s cello and Lambe’s violin rested against each other, a strangely comforting sight, as though they were propping each other up.

Wolff let me in—it was surprising to see him home at this hour. His normally neat hair was spiked all over his head. Thick stubble coated his chin. He didn’t bother to ask why I’d arrived—instead, he guided me quickly into the parlor.

“He said you’d be here. He needs to tell you something.”

Dear God. Lambe was laid out on the sofa, his hands arranged over his chest. He keened softly.

Poison.

Wolff knelt beside Lambe and placed a large hand on the other boy’s forehead. Lambe’s eyelids were so translucent and thin that one could make out the tracery of every blue vein. His breath came in worrisome gasps.

“What did he take?” I asked Wolff.

“Nothing. He wouldn’t eat or drink these past few days—he was too weak to attend Lady Eliza’s party.” Had Lambe foreseen what would happen at the ball? No, I didn’t think so. His prophetic powers didn’t work so clear as that. “This morning, he wrote that he wanted to see you, and then fainted. I’ve tried waking him.” Wolff’s voice cracked with fear.

The first thing to do was revive him. “I need chamomile and gingerroot, if you’ve got any.” Maria had told me how soothing those ingredients could be. “And some clear broth.” Wolff sent me downstairs to the landlady, a broad-armed woman who tsked to see an unmarried young lady in a gentlemen’s flat, sorcerers or no. But she gave me what I wanted.