Page 71 of Burn

Like a bad omen, my gut clenched. Quickly, I stabbed a wedge of apple and jammed the prong into my mouth, chewing the fruit to a pulp. Tartness doused in nutmeg melted into my palate. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Until the aftertaste materialized. An herbal zest assaulted my senses. I’d been too immersed in Briar earlier to recognize the flavor. But I did now, for the universal ingredient spanned every Season, down to Jinny’s own cache of remedies.

Standard poison would have been too easy, too commonplace for the food tasters to detect. By contrast, something generally harmless wouldn’t be cause for alarm. Unless for instance, it was something Briar had an allergy to.

The ladies and Eliot noticed, their lively expressions creasing in confusion, then in worry. From across the table, Avalea noticed the same effects mottling Briar’s skin. The queen was already rising from her chair and opening her mouth, all of them registering what I saw in half a second.

It happened like most deadly things. Gradually, then instantly.

My eyes sliced toward Briar’s plate, laden with the sumptuous fare of Autumn, like a clever disguise. Another terrible noise clotted Briar’s throat, as if she had a rash, which she tried to clear by coughing, unaware of the cause.

The room shrank. Terror seized my breath. Blood rushed to my head just as the princess plucked her fork off the table.

“Briar!” I growled. Tearing Nicu off my lap and setting him on the ground, I slammed to my feet and lunged across the table. “Briar,no!”

Jesters moved fast. But never that fast.

In any case, too late. The princess had started eating a while ago.

My warning bellowed through the hall as she slipped the fork into her mouth and swallowed. An instant later, Briar frowned in bafflement, right before a stream of blood spurted from her lips.

24

Briar

Scarlet. The color spread everywhere, spraying the plates and brass chalices. Geysers of red squirted across the table linens and stained my twill bodice, the rich pigment seeping like paint into the fabric. It spread, unfurling across my chest and dribbling from the tips of my fingers.

The shade of a ribbon. The hue of a rose.

The taste of fire.

It hit me after the color did. The acrid flavor of something charred invaded my palate, blackened and bitter. My tongue ignited like tinder, as though someone had doused it in oil and then lit a match. An inferno erupted in my stomach and launched up my throat, traveling as if fueled by dry brush.

I wobbled from my chair, then slipped forward, my palms slamming onto the table to break my fall. The room dimmed, obscuring every shape.

Blistering pain seized my lips, so that when they parted, nothing came out. Cries built in my mouth, thrashing to break free. Yet nothing happened, my vocal cords unable to produce noise.

But that did not matter. Because everyone else made noise for me.

Screams resounded in my ears, the sounds of upheaval flooding the hall. Bellows, breaking dishes, booted feet charging my way. My name blasted across the table. People shrieked at a thousand different octaves, in a thousand different accents, and referred to me in a thousand different guises.

“Briar!”

“Daughter!”

“Princess!”

The clamor reminded me of those moments when Mother and I would present ourselves before the people, when she would stand beside me on a terrace overlooking the citizens. Countless faces would peer up and holler, cheering until the combined uproar flooded the kingdom.

Except those receptions had been joyous. This one was not. To the contrary, the combustion was turbulent, frantic, and smothering.

I could not breathe. Clasping my neck, I hacked and wheezed for air. Hot pokers stabbed my throat, scarlet continued to pour from me and splatter my hands, and the taste of scalded flesh assaulted my tongue.

Amid the pandemonium, a child screeched and then began sobbing. “Briar Patch!”

Louder still, a familiar male voice roared, “Briar!”

That voice. I knew that voice.

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