Chapter 2: The Poisoned Cup

“Drink up, rat,” said a maid with a tray. “Celeste sent you tea. She says you’re too thin to work tonight.”

Lyra looked at the steaming cup. Then she looked at the maid.

The girl was smiling too hard.

“How kind,” Lyra said. She lifted the cup and sniffed.

Bitter almond. Under the honey, under the herbs. The same bitter taste that had burned her throat an hour ago, in another life.

Do not drink it, Ember hissed.

I am not stupid, Lyra thought. Out loud she said, “You first.”

The maid went pale. “What?”

“Taste it. Celeste is so generous, she would not mind if you tried a sip.” Lyra held out the cup. “Go on. It’s only tea.”

“I… I’m not thirsty.”

“Then why are you shaking?”

Mara appeared at Lyra’s elbow with a dish towel over her shoulder. “Tilda, is everything all right?”

Tilda backed up a step. The tray rattled. “It’s nothing! Celeste told me to bring it. That is all I know!”

“Then you will not mind telling Cook what Celeste told you,” said Lyra, “and what is in this cup.”

Tilda burst into tears and ran.

The kitchen went silent. Three women stared at Lyra. One crossed herself.

Mara took the cup, sniffed it, and her freckles turned white. “Lyra. That is nightshade root.”

“I know.”

“How could you know?”

“I have had it before,” Lyra said dryly. “I did not care for it.”

Mara stared at her. Then she shoved the cup into a flour sack and tied it shut. “We are keeping that. For later. When the right person needs to see it.”

Lyra almost smiled. “You think like a lawyer.”

“I think like a girl who wants her friend alive.” Mara dragged her toward the pantry. “Come. Hide. I need you to tell me what happened to you, because you are not acting like Lyra.”

Lyra hesitated. Trust no one. But Mara had just helped her hide attempted murder.

“I am Lyra,” she said. “I just woke up.”

“Woke up how?”

“The way you wake up from the worst sleep of your life.”

Mara studied her. Whatever she saw made her nod. “Fine. Keep your secrets. But I am not leaving you alone tonight.”

“Mara. I need to know something. Why does everyone call me wolfless?”

Mara’s face fell. “You really do not remember?”

“Pretend I do not.”

“Every wolf has a beast inside by sixteen. They shift for the first time and the whole pack celebrates.” Mara looked at her feet. “You turned nineteen last month, Lyra. You never shifted. Not once. They say your wolf is dead.”

I am not dead, Ember growled.

I know, thought Lyra. But they do not.

“So I am an omega,” Lyra said, “with no rank, no protection, and no value.”

“Yes. But you are my best friend. And Cook likes you. A little.”

“Cook hits me with a spoon.”

“That is how she shows she cares.”

Lyra laughed. It came out sharp and surprised. She stopped quickly. Laughing felt dangerous.

The pantry door rattled.

“Open up, wolfless!”

Garrick’s voice. Drunk, loud, and angry.

Mara mouthed, Celeste’s cousin.

Lyra opened the door herself.

Garrick stood there, swaying. He was a big boy with a big jaw and small eyes. His fist was already halfway up.

“You’re going to tell me where Tilda went,” he said. “She was supposed to bring you tea. My cousin is not pleased.”

“Your cousin sent poison to a kitchen girl,” said Lyra. “I think she should be a little more careful.”

Garrick blinked. “Poison?”

“You did not know?”

“I… no! She said it was a sleeping draught!”

He is lying, said Ember. No. Wait. He is stupid. He believes it.

“Ask Celeste what she put in the cup,” said Lyra. “Ask her very politely. Then tell me how she answers.”

Garrick’s mouth opened and shut. His fist lowered an inch.

“You’re a liar.”

“Maybe.” She stepped closer. He smelled like beer and horse. “But you are a bigger fool if you hit a girl for a crime your cousin committed. I will remember your face.”

He swallowed. Backed away. Then he fled down the hall, muttering.

Mara let out a breath. “You are going to get killed.”

“I have been killed,” Lyra said. “It was very inconvenient.”

Mara blinked. “Is that a joke?”

“Mostly.”

They worked until sundown. Lyra scrubbed pots until her fingers bled. But her mind was somewhere else. She was building a map.

Celeste wanted her dead. Why? A kitchen girl with no wolf was not a threat.

Unless Celeste knew something Lyra did not.

Ember, she thought. Why would anyone poison a wolfless omega?

Ember was quiet. Then, very softly: I do not know. But I think the answer is not about you. I think it is about what you carry.

What do I carry?

I told you. I am locked. But there is something else behind the wall with me. Something I cannot reach.

Lyra wiped her hands on her apron. Can I open it?

Not yet. If I wake, every wolf in this pack will feel me. They will want to know what you are.

And if they find out?

Then there will be more tea.

Lyra stared at the dark window. She was nineteen. She was wolfless. She was hated. She had a best friend who made terrible jokes and a wolf who spoke like an old queen.

I have worked with worse teams, she thought.

She straightened her shoulders. Whatever Celeste had planned, Lyra had a plan too. Step one, survive. Step two, find the weak link. Step three, rise.

Far across the compound, a horn sounded. Long, deep, and unfamiliar.

The kitchen froze. Cook dropped her spoon.

“That is not our horn,” Mara whispered.

Boots thundered in the hall. A warrior burst through the door, breathless, wild-eyed.

“Cook! Everyone! The Alpha King’s scouts are at the gates, four days early, and they say the King himself is two hours behind them!” He gulped air. “And they are asking one question, over and over. Where is my fated mate?”