and Giselle chuckles.
The moment she steps out from the shadow and onto the stairs, Katharine feels every pair of eyes. Poisoners are naturally severe and exacting. They can cut with a look as easily as with a knife. The people of Fennbirn Island grow in strength with the ruling queen. Naturalists become stronger under a naturalist. Elementals stronger under an elemental. After three poisoner queens, the poisoners are strong to the last, and the Arrons most of all.
Katharine does not know whether she ought to smile. Sheonly knows not to tremble. Or stumble. She nearly forgets to breathe. She catches sight of Genevieve, standing behind and to the right of Natalia. Genevieveâs lilac eyes are like stones. She looks both furious and afraid, as if she is daring Katharine to make a mistake. As if she relishes the prospect of the feel of her hand across Katharineâs face.
When Katharineâs heel lands on the floor of the ballroom, glasses raise and white teeth flash. Katharineâs heart eases out of her throat. It will be all right, at least for now.
A servant offers a flute of champagne; she takes it and sniffs: the champagne smells a little like oak and slightly of apples. If it has been tainted, then it was not with pink mistletoe berries, as Giselle suspected. Still, she takes only a sip, barely enough to wet her lips.
With her entrance over, the music begins again, and chatter resumes. Poisoners in their best blacks flutter up to her like crows and flutter away just as quickly. There are so many, dropping polite bows and curtsies, dropping so many names, but the only name that matters is Arron. In minutes the anxiety begins to squeeze. Her dress suddenly feels tight, and the room suddenly hot. She searches for Natalia but cannot find her.
âAre you all right, Queen Katharine?â
Katharine blinks at the woman in front of her. She cannot remember what she had been saying.
âYes,â she says. âOf course.â
âWell, what do you think? Are your sistersâ celebrations as glorious as this?â
âWhy no!â Katharine says. âThe naturalists will be roasting fish on sticks.â The poisoners laugh. âAnd Mirabella . . . Mirabella . . .â
âIs splashing around barefoot in rain puddles.â
Katharine turns. A handsome poisoner boy is smiling at her, with Nataliaâs blue eyes and ice-blond hair. He holds his hand out.
âWhat else do elementals enjoy doing, after all?â he asks. âMy queen. Will you dance?â
Katharine lets him lead her to the floor and pull her close. A beautiful blue-and-green Deathstalker scorpion is pinned to his right lapel. It is still slightly alive. Its legs writhe sluggishly, a grotesquely beautiful ornament. Katharine leans a bit away. Deathstalker venom is excruciating. She has been stung and healed seven times but still shows little resistance to its effects.
âYou saved me,â she says. âOne more moment of fumbling for words and I would have turned to run.â
His smile is attentive enough to make her blush. They turn around on the floor, and she studies his angular features.
âWhat is your name?â she asks. âYou must be an Arron. You have their look. And their hair. Unless you have dyed it for the occasion.â
He laughs. âWhat? Like the servants do, you mean? Oh, Aunt Natalia and her appearances.â
âAunt Natalia? So you are an Arron.â
âI am,â he says. âMy name is Pietyr Renard. My mother was Paulina Renard. My father is Nataliaâs brother, Christophe.â Hespins her out. âYou dance very well.â
His hand slides across her back, and she tenses when he ventures too close to her shoulder, where he might feel the roughness from a past poisoning that toughened her skin.
âIt is a wonder,â she says, âgiven how heavy this gown is. It feels as though the straps are about to draw blood.â
âWell, you must