An Affair of Poisons(91)

I shake my head. I’m not strong enough to free it. Gris grunts, and with the last of his strength, he guides my hand to his hip. To his dagger. And mouths a single word:

Poisoned.

My lips drop open, and his eyes fill with relief. He lets out a long breath, and then stills forever. Limp and heavy and gone. My chest splinters down the center and my shredded heart tumbles out, leaving me gaping and gasping and empty. I fold in half and lay my head against Gris’s stomach, my cheek drenched with blood and tears.

“Another death on your conscience,” Mother mutters. I’d forgotten she was there, watching. “Perhaps it’s for the best. Perhaps his death will teach you the consequences of defying me, since annihilating half the city hasn’t.”

“How can you be so heartless?” I shout, hugging Gris close. “He was our family. All he ever wanted was your approval.”

“He certainly didn’t deserve it.”

“No. You never deserved him.” Rage carves out my insides until there’s no bottom to the well of my fury. Then hatred fills me back up, pumping its greasy blackness through my veins. In one fluid motion, I free Gris’s dagger from its sheath and pounce toward Mother. She jumps back, tripping over her ceremonial cape and gaping as if I’m a rabid beast. Maybe I am—the low growls pouring from my lips are more animal than human.

I slam into her and we roll across the boards. She claws at my face and bucks beneath me, but I’m far stronger from years of hefting cauldrons. I bear down on her shoulders and raise the dagger to her throat. At the last moment, she heaves to the side and the blade barely nicks her arm, just below the shoulder.

Thanks to Gris—brilliant, loyal Gris, who thought of everything—a nick is all it takes.

I fall back, panting. Mother rises to her hands and knees, a smirk on her lips. Thinking I missed. She prowls closer, and I let her come. Her elbow wobbles after a few lengths. Before she reaches the edge of my skirt, her arms give out entirely.

She sucks in a breath and looks down at the tiny line of blood on her gown with horror. “What have you done?”

Before I can answer, a violent, shuddering cough sends her sprawling. Thick white foam burbles from her lips, and her eyes roll back. She’s taken in a fit, shaking and thrashing wildly, and I can’t tell if I’m laughing or weeping. I wanted to be better than Mother. I wanted to beat her by giving life, not taking it, but she made it clear she would never stop. She would kill the beggars and fishmongers and orphans. Everyone I’ve come to love. Everything good.

“How could you?”

I look up into my sister’s horrified face. Marguerite clutches her head with one hand, her eye already swelling where Louis bludgeoned her, and the other hand rises to her quivering lips. “How could you?” she repeats—so soft that it’s lost in the roar of the smoke beasts and clashing swords. With a wail, she crumples to her knees and crawls to Mother’s side. She gently prods her shoulder. She traces her fingers down Mother’s face—whispering, crying, begging her to rise. Mourning over her as I just mourned Gris.

I have never felt so alone. So apart.

Shout at me, I silently beg as I watch. Attack me. Rail and fume and fight! That would be easier than watching her cling to Mother’s cold, limp arms.

My eyes burn, and an uncomfortable thickness fills my throat. I have to look away.

“Congratulations, you’ve won,” Marguerite says. “Kill me and be done with it.”

“I don’t want to kill you, Margot.”

“You might as well. I have nothing left. You killed our mother. And Lesage. And where’s Fernand?” A sob bursts from her throat. “End my misery. Or leave me here and let the beasts devour me.” She lays down beside Mother, face up to the sky.

A roar rattles the platform, and the long snake-like beast flies across the stage as if summoned by Margot’s defeat. Without thinking, I fling myself on top of my sister, clutch her to my chest, and roll away from the wall of fire eating up the boards.

“Let me go!” She slaps at my face. “It doesn’t matter. We’re all going to die.”

“We’re not. Look!” I point to Louis and the rebels as they bound up the scaffold steps. The smoke beast circles back around and swoops low to breathe its fire, but the rebels duck their heads and thrust through the inferno. They emerge completely unscathed, their skin shimmering like diamonds. “I distilled one of Father’s compounds. It’s impervious to—”

My explanation is drowned out by the rose serpent’s furious snarls. It howls across the square, and the midnight-black creature growls in response. Together they dive at the rebels, their razor claws extended. Louis and Ameline drop to their stomachs, but not everyone is quick enough. The Marquis de Cessac and an unlucky fishmonger are crushed by the beasts’ talons, lifted high above the courtyard, and shredded to bits.

I scream into the back of my hand as blood and flesh fall from the smoky sky.

“Your precious powder can’t protect us from that.” Marguerite’s voice is flat and listless.

I shudder as the truth of her words seeps through me.

Lesage is dead. But still the beasts live. Because of me. Because I cannot control my portion of his magic.

I press my cheek against the ground and scream with frustration.

The impossible has happened. Mother and Lesage are gone. Louis rose from the sewer and the rebels rallied behind him. They even thought to distill additional fire powder. But it still isn’t enough.