The Shadowglass (The Bone Witch, #3)(39)

I started.

“I said nothing because you were in no danger. Very few Dark asha exhibit black heartsglass, even in darkrot. It’s more often associated with the Faceless, a status symbol among themselves. Master tried to explain the misconception, but old suspicions die hard, even among asha. Black heartsglass don’t indicate insanity, he said. But it could signify a greater capacity for the Dark than most, which in turn makes it susceptible to darkrot. That’s all.”

“Then why am I going crazy?” I whispered, hoarse from my silence.

“I don’t know, but you’re not going crazy because of this.” He quieted, speaking beyond the guards’ hearing. “I suspect someone could be poisoning you.”

“What?”

He tapped my heartsglass. “There are fluctuations here that are unusual and have nothing to do with color. I’ve seen it before in people dosed over long periods of time. When I requested permission to examine you, only Kalen knew the real reason why.”

“I don’t understand.”

Khalad was angry. He’d been angry since entering my cell, but it hadn’t registered until the snarl tucked into his mouth. “Because whoever has been poisoning you must be a member of our party, Tea—either in the Valerian, or, more broadly, in the Willows. No one else could have gotten close without arousing suspicion.”

My head spun. “But…that’s impossible.”

“Like I said, we have to make sure. Kalen’s right. He’s always believed you, Tea. It’s killing him that you won’t talk to him.”

“I…I killed Daisy, Khalad.”

“You know compulsion more than anyone else here, Tea. Three months ago, we had no idea Blight runes even existed. What else will we discover in another three? Magic isn’t the only way to poison someone.”

Food and drink perhaps, the same way blighted victims were targeted. But Mykaela herself had delved me and found nothing wrong. “Is someone coming after me?”

“I can believe in one coincidence, maybe two. But a blight attack in Istera, then two more after we returned, all to shine suspicion on you, is stretching credulity a little too far. Don’t give up on yourself.”

“Has Fox?” I couldn’t help but ask.

Khalad looked down, and that was answer enough. Strangely, I felt neither anger, nor sorrow. Khalad sounded logical, but I didn’t believe him. I believed Fox. We were the only witnesses, and poor Daisy could no longer defend herself.

The Heartforger’s words lay heavy on my mind long after he’d left. Part of me didn’t want to care, but a greater part of me was unsettled. I didn’t want to wish; I didn’t want to hope. I was content to eke out the rest of my short days in prison, awaiting the blessed relief of the hangman’s noose or the executioner’s ax. There would be no surprises lurking there. No more daeva, no more politicking—just a short drop into forever and then peace.

I deserved it. I had killed Daisy.

Hadn’t I?

I could almost hate Khalad for giving me a reason to fight my sentence, no matter how small my chances were. As a Dark novice, I was indifferent to punishment, jaded in the knowledge that I would be forgiven. It was the price I exacted—my services in exchange for my freedom and their dislike.

And Fox. That hurt me most of all, losing his trust. If he swore I’d killed Daisy, then I was guilty, no matter what Khalad said. My hand delivered the killing blow, and no holy waters could ever wash them clean.

? ? ?

I had a visitor later that night.

I woke with my mind primed to fight. Someone was in the dungeon with me. I had no light to go by, and there were no other prisoners in the jail. The small barred window above my prison cell was of little help, and what little moonlight filtered through gave me shadows and shapes, but no particulars of contour or color.

“Hello?” I called out into the darkness, surprised at how weak I sounded in the echoes. “Is anyone there?”

The only response was rustling. A vague shape emerged from the shadows down the dark hallway. It jerked and unfolded itself into an upright position.

“Hello?”

It moved closer. I caught sight of Levi’s familiar face in profile and relaxed. He was doubled over, clearly still in pain from his injuries. “Levi, what are you doing? You’re supposed to be resting—”

The Deathseeker’s mouth twisted. With sick, mounting dread, I stared as his face literally ripped apart, a black and scaled flailing mass emerging underneath. The strange movements that I thought were from sickness were actually slithering motions, because Levi’s feet were gone. In their place were the thick, mottled curves of two snake tails as he edged toward me.

I rose to my feet, screaming for someone, anyone, to come. It was almost at my cell now, hands lengthening like tentacles to glide in between the bars, reaching for the edges of my dress. I sidestepped its questing, jelly-like extremities—once, twice, thrice—but knew I could not fend off an attack as more of it slipped between the steel bars.

The flash of a sword swung in the darkness and cleaved an armlike feeler off its blob of a shoulder. The creature that had once been Levi yelped and withdrew. Kalen lopped off another. “Levi,” he groaned, already grieving.

The monster showed no recognition. Fangs protruded from the now-reptilian mouth, blue vomit dribbling down its craw. The head lunged forward, an implausible cobra striking from within a collection of limbs.