Poison (12 page)

Frantic, Kyra ran down the length of the street searching for any sign of the girl or her family. The street ended in a city park with a giant fountain in the middle. Kyra sat down heavily beside it. This was hopeless. Although…

She jumped up. There was one last chance.

Juggler
,
carnival games
, and
fair candy
echoed through Kyra’s head. The little girl had mentioned all of them. Which could mean only one thing: she’d be going to the festival.

In the distance was a sparkling of twinkling lights, and as Kyra drew close to the fairgrounds, she could smell the savory-sweet scent of roasting meat, fried bread, and caramel. Inside the gate there were jugglers surrounded by children; donkeys with children riding on top of them; throwing games with lines of children eagerly waiting for their turn; and children battling each other with giant turkey legs as weapons at the food carts.

Children were everywhere. And at least a third of them were blond. Just like the little market girl. The crowds were so thick that she had no hope of spotting Rosie’s pink face.

So Kyra would have to check each one. She pushed into the crowd by the jugglers, grabbing and spinning each blond child around as she worked her way down the line. No little market girl. Next was the donkey ring—no luck there. By the time Kyra reached the food stalls, children were squealing and running to avoid her. One brave boy poked her with a turkey leg and shouted, “Get off!” when she spun his little sister around.

She was never going to find the market girl. Or Rosie.

In desperation, she turned at last to the lines for the outhouses—the smell wafting from that direction was less than appealing, but Kyra couldn’t let that deter her. Hustling her old bones, she shoved into the crowd, raising a bunch of shouts and curses in her wake.

That’s when she overheard it. A little girl voice that sounded familiar.

“Mum, I don’t feel good. I’m
never
eating so much fair candy again.”

Kyra spotted the girl from the market standing with her mum.

Rosie was nowhere in sight. So much for sharing her fair candy. No wonder the girl felt sick.

“Excuse me,” Kyra said. “I’m looking for Rosie—my pig?”

The girl immediately burst into tears. “I coulda shared my treats with
her
,” she wailed.

The girl’s mother looked uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, ma’am. It was too good of an offer. We don’t make so much at our stand that we can turn down good money like that.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We sold her.”

“Can you tell me who you sold her to?”

Please don’t say the butcher, please don’t say the butcher,
please, please, not the butcher.

“Well, he seemed like a nice young man.”

“Did you get a name?”

“I didn’t catch his name, sorry, ma’am.” The woman looked sincerely apologetic. “He seemed to know the pig and wanted her so much.…”

Kyra shut her eyes for a moment, wishing that somehow there was a different annoying pig lover in the world. “Rumply brown hair?” she asked, dreading the answer. “Green eyes, kind of gold in the light?”

“That’s him exactly!” the woman said, happy and relieved that Kyra knew who she was talking about. “Good-looking fellow too.”

F
RED!

He’d been nothing but a pain in Kyra’s behind since she’d met him. And now he had her pig. How he could tell one pig from another she didn’t know. Though she had to admit Rosie did have a distinctive way about her. He probably hadn’t gone far. Not with the big festival tomorrow. Beltane Eve was almost impossible to resist.

On Beltane Eve, the most festive celebration of the year, kids dressed up as horrors to scare the cold of winter back into hiding. They wandered the city all day, eating sweets and playing games. When it got dark, there was a solemn parade in honor of the dead Winter King, but once the straw-stuffed Winter King effigy was alight on the bonfire, the kids were sent to bed and things really got rowdy, with dancing until dawn.

Kyra decided to switch glamours—if she ran across Ellie while she was looking for Fred, she didn’t want him to recognize her as the old woman who’d broken into his hotel room. Who knew how the possibly evil old hermit would react? Better to keep her problems separate. Fred first, then Ellie. Her new glamour was a round-cheeked young blond woman, looking every bit the dairymaid Kyra had pretended to be earlier.

But searching for Fred and Ellie would have to wait: Kyra’s eyelids were drooping from fatigue. She decided to call it a night and start fresh the next day.

She checked into a second-floor room at an inn called the Winged Dragon and took a long bath, the hot steam enshrouding her and seeming to clean away months on the road. Then she crawled into her first real bed in ages, the mattress so light and fluffy that she slid directly into a deep sleep.

The early morning sounds of the city through her window woke her all too soon.

Kyra could smell fresh bread baking somewhere, mixed with the scent of spring blossoms growing in the box outside her window. The bed was so unbelievably wonderful—she rubbed her feet under the sheets, reveling in the feel of her clean body against clean linens.

A brisk knock sounded on her door.

Kyra jumped up and realized she’d washed away the milkmaid glamour. Frantically, she looked around for her potions bag, but realized there was no time for that. Draping her sheet over her head and wrapping the rest of the cloth around her body, she stepped to the door and opened it a crack.

A maid was walking away down the hall. At Kyra’s feet was a basket filled with something wrapped in cloth, which smelled tantalizingly good. Kyra put her hand on the bundle. Still warm.

What a wonderful, wonderful woman to have brought this to her. Kyra felt a giggle coming on. Warm baked goods. Breakfast!

She brought the basket back to bed with her. After polishing off two blueberry muffins, a crescent-shaped almond pastry, and two chunks of brown bread spread with butter, Kyra toyed with the idea of staying there forever—snuggled into bed, living off the delightful things that would come to her door every morning.

But no: it was time to get back to the real world and find Fred. And her pig.

Kyra put on her dairymaid glamour and hit the streets. She walked from one end of Wexford to the other—checking every shop she thought might appeal to Fred, watching outside of inns, peeking in pub windows.

Around noon, Kyra made her way to the central park for a break. The smell of hot savory pastries wafted from a stand near the fountain. She bought two fist-sized pies stuffed with new potatoes, peas, and spices, and sat down on a bench to eat them.

Streets led away from the park like spokes on a wheel, and Kyra had a view of the open-air market and the shop-lined street. She watched the ebb and flow of people as she finished her first pastry. She was feeling drowsy in the sun, her belly full, her eyes threatening to close. But they widened when she saw a man with two animals—a small pink pig and a wolflike dog.

Fred.

He had a loaf of bread under one arm and a shopping bag in the other. Kyra rose and followed him. Despite her dairymaid glamour, she tried to be as inconspicuous as possible.

Fred turned and went inside an inn called the Thorny Rose. The place was nicer than she expected of Fred. But not so nice that it would be difficult to break into. Kyra watched the dark empty windows until a small pink pig face appeared in one of them, then turned to go.

She’d wait until that night to steal Rosie. Surely, even Fred wouldn’t be dim enough to bring a pig to the parade.

Her glamour fading, she went back to her inn for a nice afternoon nap. It was going to be a long night. And she had to take advantage of that soft mattress while she could.

At dusk she peeked out the second-story window of her room. The streets were filled with people in costumes—that, she expected. What she was surprised to see, however, were soldiers in full military gear. She’d never seen soldiers decked out for combat at a festival.

Why would they be so heavily armed on Beltane Eve? Were they looking for her?

Then she spotted a man in black on a street corner: Dartagn. And the man Dartagn was talking to—the too-handsome face and perfectly coifed black hair were unmistakable.

Kyra ducked down under the windowsill for the space of two breaths. Then she peeked over again.

Her mind hadn’t been playing tricks on her: it was Hal. What was he doing here? And why was he in such deep conversation with the black-clad elite soldier?

Ned came out of the pub behind them, a turkey leg in one hand, and joined in the conversation.

The remaining two members of the Master Trio of Potioners were here. And they were working with Dartagn.

Kyra tried to get a grip on herself. There was no way they could have tracked her here. If they had, surely they would have found her already. More likely they’d lost her in the forest and had come to Wexford in case she showed up.

Did the Master Trio and the King’s Army think she would plan an assassination on Beltane Eve? Did that mean the princess
was
in the city?

Kyra needed that pig.

When she checked again a few minutes later, they were gone. But in their place were three shrieking little girls. One was dressed as a lady ghost with white powder dusted all over her, and the second was a thief in raggedy clothing.

They pointed at another girl and shouted, “You’ve got the scariest costume ever!”

“Oh my God, it’s soooo creepy!”

Kyra leaned out the window for a better look at this Beltane horror and gasped.

The little girl they were pointing at was dressed in black from head to toe, with long curly black hair, and her face made up into a grimace. Eerie green potion bottles dangled from her wrist and belt. “Watch out!” the girl in black shouted. “The Princess Killer is going to get you!” She lunged at her friends and they ran off screaming.

Kyra’s stomach twisted.

The horror was her.

She sat down hard on the soft bed. She’d become a scary costume.

Not exactly how she had expected her life to turn out.

Wherever he was, Fred must be seeing the same thing. Was there any possible way he could miss the connection between the Princess Killer costumes and Kyra?

Right then, more than anything, she just wanted to run away from it all.

But she couldn’t. She didn’t have time to even entertain the fantasy of running away. What she needed was to go get Rosie and pick up the hunt again.

First, she had to find something that
truly
belonged to the princess. Luckily, Kyra had a good idea of
exactly
where she could track down such a thing. The tailor’s.

But she’d have to wait until nightfall, when all the shops were closed up tight.

Kyra reapplied her wholesome dairymaid glamour and went out.

The crowds had grown but were mostly subdued, lining the sides of the streets and waiting for the yearly processional of the straw-stuffed Winter King and the Cherry Blossom Princess, a local girl chosen for the role. An honor guard of drunken men and saucy ladies-in-waiting would make its slow way through the city, collecting revelers in its wake, until reaching a fir tree–encircled clearing at the city’s outskirts. There, the Cherry Blossom Princess would light the Beltane bonfire and her guard would throw in the figure of the Winter King.

Kyra found the perfect spot: a seat in a cozy pub near the parade route. Through the wide-open double doors was a view of the main street.

She sat at the end of the bar, ordered dinner and a mug of hot cider, and settled down for an evening of people-watching. Steaming plates of food appeared in front of her, and the heady aroma of parsley butter wafting off the peas and mashed potatoes almost made her swoon face-forward into her meal.

And then she saw something that
did
make her duck down: right outside the window was Hal.

This was ridiculous. She was wearing a glamour. It didn’t matter who saw her.

Still, she kept an eye on Hal and was relieved when he finally walked away.

By the time Kyra finished eating,
CLOSED
signs had appeared in shop windows up and down the street.

She worked her way through the throngs of people waiting for the Beltane Eve parade, and took a left down a side alley.

Unless memory failed her, this was the way to the tailor’s secret back-door entrance.

It was, in fact, the only way Kyra—or Ariana—had ever gone inside.

Ariana and Kyra’s adventures outside the palace had taken a toll on their clothes. But it would not do for the princess—or the princess’s best friend—to be seen entering a tailor’s with a stack of ripped and muddied dresses and trousers. And though Ariana had a coterie of dressmakers and seamstresses at the palace, they would all make a fuss about any damage to her clothes. How on earth could she have gotten those stains when she was supposed to have been in the palace studying with Kyra all afternoon?

So Kyra and Ariana had found someone to help them out.

The tailor at Gabrielle’s Fine Dresses had no problem taking up their cause. Or their coin. Within a few months, Ariana was given her own locked closet, under the name Choizie Laurent.

The princess had never stopped using Gabrielle’s. Even when the “cosmetics lessons” from Kyra ended, and their adventures became fewer and further between, Ariana had always needed someone she could trust outside the palace to repair the questionable damage that always seemed to befall her clothes.

Kyra just hoped that Ari had left something behind for Rosie’s basket. Gabrielle’s would definitely be easier to break into than the palace.

In the darkened alley, Kyra came upon the dress store’s back entrance.

She blew Release powder into the lock. She heard something give way inside, but when she tried the door it held firm. Strange.

Taking a quill from her holster coated with a strong dose of Melt elixir, she slipped it into the crack between the doors and ran it up and down in a steady line over the bolt. The metal softened beneath the quill until finally her needle snapped through in a clean break. She pushed again and the door opened.

She snuck inside, closing the door behind her. The dark room smelled like clothes pressed with wood-fired irons, fabric glue, and raw silk.

There was something creepy about Gabrielle’s Fine Dresses at night. The wooden mannequins stared at Kyra with their blank painted eyes, and shadows and light from the paradegoers’ torches outside rippled and pooled in the bolts of fabric lying across the worktables. Everything seemed to be constantly moving and changing.

Kyra went through the curtain into the back room, where the row of closets for special customers was located. The only light now came from Hal’s necklace around her neck.

The tiny glow was enough to shed a soft light on the closet-lined room. The half-open door to the side led to a storeroom, where a pile of mannequins lay stacked on the floor like bodies. Kyra shivered. They looked even creepier than when they were dressed and on display in the store.

Hastily, she turned to the row of closets and found the one with
CHOIZIE LAURENT
printed in small cursive lettering above it.

Inside hung a green wedding dress.

It had been ripped to shreds.