Rise An Eve Novel

I said. “They’ll return when I can.”
    “The last time someone in the Palace was told about the tunnels, two of our men were killed,” Moss said. He didn’t look at me as he spoke. Was there a slight accusation in his tone, or had I imagined it?
    “When?” I asked, the room closing in on me. “How long before we see the effects of the poison?”
    Moss glanced up at the locked door. The parlor was quiet. Sun streamed through the window, lighting up the tiny dust particles in the air. “As soon as thirty-six hours, as late as seventy-two. It depends on how many pills he ingests and how much of the extract you’re able to get inside the capsules. It’ll start with nausea and vomiting, some abdominal pain. Within twenty-four hours there’d be dehydration, hallucination, seizures—” He stopped, studying my face. “What is it? You don’t look well.”
    I stood, drawing back from the table. The floor beneath my feet felt less certain. Even the slowest, fullest breath couldn’t calm the tensing of my stomach. A strange, all-consuming sickness was somewhere behind my eyes and nose, the queasiness moving through me. “Something’s wrong,” I managed to say.
    Moss rose, his eyes scanning the room, searching the half-eaten plates of food, the tea, the glass of water. “What are you feeling?” He went to the silver tray Alina had been assembling and studied the food, turning over the scone in his hands. “Did you eat this? Who brought it to you?”
    I couldn’t answer. My skin was hot and damp. The vents blew scorching air down on me. I took off the shawl, but it was no use; I couldn’t escape the sick, spinning feeling. I ran to the door, fiddling with the handle until it gave. I didn’t get more than two steps before I hunched over. The sour spit came from my mouth and hit the floor, covering it with a watery brown spatter. My insides tensed again.
    “Eve?” I heard Clara’s voice from somewhere down the hall. Then she was coming toward me. “Help! Someone call the doctor!”

four
    WHEN I AWOKE, CLARA WAS SITTING ON THE CHAISE IN THE corner, the City paper folded over her lap. She was asleep, leaning up against the pillows Charles always used, her head tilted to one side. I looked down at my arm. A wad of cotton was taped over the inside of my elbow, and a small red dot bloomed in its center. It couldn’t have been more than an hour or two since the doctor had taken blood, recorded my pulse, inspected my throat and eyes with the same conical light they’d had at School. I’d insisted I was fine, and I was. The nausea had dissipated. The feeling in my hands had returned. The only remaining symptoms were the empty tensing of my stomach and the faint sour taste on my tongue.
    I heard someone rolling a serving cart down the hallway outside, the wheels squeaking under the weight. I stood, my legs feeling weaker than I expected as I walked to the carved wood bookshelves, crouching down beside them. All three books were tucked safely on the bottom shelves, right where Moss had put them hours before. If what he’d suggested was correct, if someone had tried to poison me, I’d need them sooner than I’d thought.
    “You’re up . . .” Clara rubbed her eyes, then glanced at my hand, where my fingers still rested on one of the spines. “What are you looking at?”
    “Nothing,” I said, settling into the cushion beside her. “Trying to distract myself, that’s all.”
    Clara put her hand on my back. “I’ve never seen you like that,” she said. “You scared me.”
    “I feel better already,” I said. “The worst has passed.”
    She ran her finger over the edge of the cushion, tracing along the thin white piping. “I’m glad. They couldn’t reach Charles.”
    “That doesn’t surprise me,” I said. “He’s at a construction site in the Outlands. He’ll be gone until sundown.”
    Her expression changed. I immediately felt guilty for saying what I had—the subtle acknowledgment that I knew his schedule better than she did. Clara and Charles were the only two teenagers who’d been raised in the Palace, and she’d always harbored feelings for him. She’d made me promise to tell her if he ever spoke of her. “He hasn’t said anything yet,” I offered, trying to comfort her. “You know, most of the time when we’re talking we’re fighting. We’re not exactly close.” I covered her hand with my own and she smiled, a small, pinpoint dimple appearing in her cheek.
    “I must