I TAKE MY seat next to Layla in poisons class, which is set up like a medieval version of a high school chemistry lab. There’s a large fireplace that warms the room, the flames of which are used to heat and prepare poisonous substances, and a stone basin filled with water. At Academy Absconditi they don’t provide you with safety goggles to protect you from an explosive poisons accident, but they will extinguish you if you set yourself on fire. So that’s nice. The truly shocking part, though, isn’t the school’s lack of safety precautions; it’s that I’ve somehow grown accustomed to its risk-enthusiastic curriculum. I would shake my head at the absurdity of it all, but it wouldn’t go unnoticed by my classmates. Ever since I stepped out of my room this morning, watchful eyes of students and teachers have followed my every step.
I’m certain Aarya made a big show of telling everyone that my parents were the rebel Romeo and Juliet of Strategia—the firstborn daughter of the Bear Family running off with the firstborn son of the Lions, only to be chased by Lion assassins. That, combined with Headmaster Blackwood’s perfunctory announcement that Dr. Conner is dead, and the fact that Ash and I are covered in unexplained cuts and bruises, has made me the subject of a great deal of side-eyed whispering.
“Sit, my beauties,” says Professor Hisakawa, which is the way she addresses us at the beginning of every poisons class. She scans the room from under her blunt-cut bangs, her eyes twinkling. “We have so many wonderful things to discuss. You’re not going to want to miss a minute of it.”
Aarya and Felix sit at the wooden table across from ours. Aarya spins the glass vials and jars in front of her, which are filled with varied horrors, while she whistles. She keeps directing smug looks to Brendan’s back, obviously still gloating about her role in Dr. Conner’s demise. The part that strikes me as unsettling, though, is that if everyone assumes Brendan was involved in the plot to kill me, why doesn’t he suffer any consequences? Does his status as a head Lion really shield him that well, or is there just no evidence to prove it?
I shift my focus to Felix, who, unlike Aarya, is stiff and tensed, causing the long scar on his cheekbone to pull at the skin around it. He looks as banged up as me and Ash, and by the careful way he sits, I’m certain he’s as sore from plummeting through that tree as I am. He’s refused to look in my direction since he walked in the room. I guess it’s hard to look at me knowing he tried to kill me only to later discover that I’d saved his life.
“Atropa belladonna, or deadly nightshade,” Hisakawa says with a smile, reveling in her passion for poisons. “The Gothic siren of any good apothecary and one of the most romantic poisons, if I do say so.”
Atropa, I think, and begin my usual analysis, a name that likely pays homage to the Greek goddess Atropos, who was the oldest of the Three Fates and was responsible for choosing the way mortals die—hence the “deadly” bit. And of course bella donna means “pretty woman” in Italian. I glance at Brendan—poison is just about the only thing he and his friends didn’t try to use on me, although I’m sure he would have if he’d had the chance.
Brendan sits at a table by himself, his shock of white-blond hair standing out in stark contrast to the dark wood and stone walls. Nyx hasn’t returned from the dungeon after attacking me with her sword, and it’s obvious Brendan’s aware of her absence by the way his brow furrows when he looks at her empty chair. He doesn’t make eye contact with me, but his eyes narrow and I’m certain he notices. Layla kicks my boot under the table, which I can only assume means: “Don’t be stupid enough to instigate Brendan when all you need to do is make it through one more day.”
I adjust my gaze back to Hisakawa, who stands in front of the large fireplace with her hands clasped behind her back, rocking from the balls of her feet to the heels and back again. “The thing about belladonna that’s fascinating is that there aren’t that many recorded examples of poisoning. However, my personal favorite concerns eighteenth-century poisoner Giulia Tofana. She made Aqua Tofana, a ‘cosmetic’ sold exclusively to women for more than fifty years to help them kill their husbands. Instead of being applied to the skin, this product was poured into soup. When she was caught and executed, it was believed that Tofana had assisted in the poisoning of over six hundred men throughout Italy.” Hisakawa sighs wistfully, the way some people react to a touching poem. “Now, tell me, why would I be excited about something that has so few examples to teach from?”
Aarya leans back in her chair, the picture of ease. “Because belladonna is readily accessible and grows wild all over the world.”
“Which would have us logically conclude that there would be an excess of reported cases of belladonna poisoning, not a shortage,” Hisakawa interjects.
“Exactly,” Aarya says like she just won a prize at a carnival, “which is what is so great about it. Belladonna is effective. Combine that with the fact that it’s easily acquired and it tells you that the people who use it go undetected.”
“Precisely!” Hisakawa says, and goes up on her toes for emphasis. “Now, why do belladonna users go undetected?”
Layla opens her mouth to respond, but Brendan beats her to it. “Because belladonna isn’t and wasn’t only used to kill. Women used to rub it directly into their eyes to make their pupils dilate, which was fashionable at the time. Mixed with morphine, it was called Twilight Sleep and was used as a painkiller for women giving birth. And we still use it in medicines that treat everything from Parkinson’s to bronchitis.”
“Well said,” Hisakawa replies, and Layla looks disappointed she didn’t get an opportunity to answer. “Belladonna is common. And in being so, it often gets missed as a cause of death. Instead, the death gets assigned to an overdose or an overextended use of medication. An illegal sleep aid, even.”
Brendan soaks in the compliment from Hisakawa and I’m reminded of the scrolls in the library that keep record of the best students in each discipline for the past thousand years. Ash told me that if you can’t excel at the Academy, you’re seen as unfit to rule your Family. And that even after you’re admitted here, you’re not done proving yourself.
Hisakawa runs her fingers along the edge of her desk and leans against it. “It’s like I was telling you in our lesson last week. Capitalize on what is already in your environment. Blend. That’s what Giulia Tofana was doing with her husband-killing cosmetics. But this isn’t just about poisoners; it’s also about poison detection. You will be most vulnerable in a situation where everything seems normal and as it should be.” Hisakawa looks at me and I stare back, trying to read her expression and see if maybe she’s telling me something I need to hear. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s gone out of her way to give me a message from Headmaster Blackwood.
As if on cue, the door opens and Blackwood steps through, letting it swing closed behind her. Her hair is pulled back into a severe bun and she wears her uniform, consisting of a white frilled blouse under a black blazer and matching black pants. “Pardon my intrusion, Professor Hisakawa. But there is a matter I would like to settle without delay, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Layla gives me a concerned look.
“By all means,” Hisakawa says, and gestures at the room like she’s offering it to the headmaster.
The heavy wooden door opens with a whine and Nyx comes through, followed by two guards. Oh no. My stomach drops all the way to my toes and I shrink an inch in my seat. Nyx’s curly hair is limp, and even with her permanent eyeliner, the dark circles under her eyes make it seem like she hasn’t slept in weeks. Her face is drawn and her shoulders are slumped.
Brendan pushes his chair away from the table with purpose, like he intends to stand and help her, but Blackwood glances in his direction and he stops midmotion.
The guards aren’t restraining Nyx, and all I can think is that the dungeon must be an absolute nightmare to subdue someone as fiery and spiteful as she is.
“November,” Blackwood says, and I wish I could crawl under my desk. The only thing more disturbing than the Academy’s dungeon is its eye-for-an-eye punishment system. “Come up here.”
I push my chair back, and the noise it makes is amplified by the eerie stillness of the room. All eyes are on me.
“Show us your arm,” Blackwood says, and I reluctantly pull my white linen shirt off my shoulder, revealing a four-inch cut where my stitches were recently removed.
Blackwood turns to Nyx. “Nyx, you swapped your dull practice sword for a sharp blade in class. As far as I can ascertain from your professor, you intended to kill November with it. For that offense, you have spent time in the dungeon. But there is still the matter of the wound you inflicted. As per our rules, November will now be given a chance to retaliate.” Blackwood holds out her palm and one of the guards hands her a rolled-up piece of leather from his belt. As she unfolds it, the firelight reflects off the blade of a knife.
Blackwood gives the weapon to me and I reluctantly take it from her. “An eye for an eye, November. You may cut her arm in the same way she cut yours. No other action will be taken.” She gives me a warning look.
I reflexively glance at Layla, hoping something about her expression will tell me how to deal with this nightmare of a situation, but her face is completely neutral and she stares straight ahead at the headmaster.
I study the knife before looking up at Nyx. She meets my eyes, and even though it’s obvious she wants nothing more than to collapse, she straightens her posture and wears a proud expression. I can’t see how hurting her will change the fact that she tried to kill me. It definitely won’t make us even. But I also can’t flat-out refuse to retaliate; everyone here will consider it weakness. Beads of sweat form in my hairline.
Blackwood watches me, noticing my hesitation. “I don’t imagine you require further clarification, considering this is not the first time I have explained this to you,” she says, referring to my second day at the Academy, when Matteo punched me in the face. “You are not above the rules, November.”
Aarya sucks in air like this is the best show she’s seen in years.
The knife feels foreign in my palm, with none of its usual familiar weightiness. I glance at the door, and when I look back at Nyx, my stomach does a somersault.
“I want to inspect the knife,” Nyx says, yanking me out of my thoughts. As weathered as she appears on the outside, it’s instantly clear by her tone that her spark hasn’t diminished. “This is poisons class. How am I supposed to know she didn’t put something on the blade?”
We all look at Blackwood, who doesn’t answer right away. She can’t really be considering letting Nyx have the knife, can she? I shift my weight from one leg to the other.
“I’ll grant that request,” Blackwood says, and I nearly drop the knife out of shock.
Aarya slaps her knee and Layla’s cheeks drain of their color.
Blackwood retrieves the knife from my hand and gives it to Nyx, who slowly examines the blade and handle. She sniffs it, rubs her finger on it, and holds the metal up to the light. The entire roomful of students sits on the edge of their seats, and it’s so quiet that I can hear myself breathe.
Suddenly Nyx darts forward, the knife extended in front of her. I raise my arm in defense and the guards reach for her. But she stops short and laughs.
Brendan snickers behind me.
“I take it you’re satisfied?” Blackwood says to Nyx, without reprimanding her for the lunge.
“Almost,” Nyx says, but she’s not looking at Blackwood, she’s looking at me. She makes sure she has my full attention as she raises the knife to her own shoulder. She pulls the blade along her skin without so much as a wince. A smirk appears on her lips. She hands the knife back to Blackwood, handle first, and wipes her now-bloody palm on her shirt, creating a red smear.
“There, it’s done,” Nyx says, holding my gaze. “We’re even. Now you can stop looking at the door like you want to run and cry.”
My whole body tenses. How in the hell did she just beat me at her own punishment? Now if I do nothing, the damage will be done—everyone will get the message that when it comes to a physical confrontation, I’m afraid to act.
“Aaactually,” I say slowly, fighting to keep the uneasiness out of my voice, “you cutting your own shoulder in no way makes us even. In fact, that was one of the worst strategic moves I’ve seen in a long time.”
If Layla looked worried before, she now looks like she might have stopped breathing. Blood drips down Nyx’s left arm and she narrows her eyes.
Before Blackwood can say a word, I grab the knife and jab forward, just shy of Nyx’s uncut shoulder, grazing the fabric of her shirt with the sharp blade, creating a small tear. Nyx gasps and jumps out of the way.
The class watches with wide eyes. I can tell by Nyx’s expression that she’s furious not only with me, but also with herself for having jumped like that in front of everyone.
I laugh. “Nah, I guess we’re even. Now that you’re looking at the door like you want to run and cry.”
She locks her jaw and glares at me like she wants to tear my head off, and even though I can’t see him, I can feel Brendan’s eyes boring into my back. So much for having a normal day.