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“We’d eat it,” Ionna finished. “Maybe that’s it. The key must be at the bottom of the cornucopia.”
“Everyone, take some.”
We stretched as far as our manacles would allow us, grabbing apples, oranges, bread, pastries, and carrots—each treat riper and more sweet-smelling than the last.
Tycho spoke up. “Guys, are you seeing this?”
I was seeing it. We were snatching food from the cornucopia, but weren’t making a dent in it. The same amount of food remained like we hadn’t touched it at all.
“We’re doing something wrong,” Nitsa said.
“We’re not eating,” Daciana replied, bringing an apple to her lips. “We should— Don’t!”
Her scream jolted me in my seat, making me drop my carrot.
“Don’t eat it,” she cried, snatching Nitsa’s pear. “It’s poisoned.”
“What?” Ionna paled. She threw down her bread. “Did you say poisoned?”
“Yes. It’s faint.” She sniffed her apple again. “Such a small amount, I almost didn’t notice it, but it’s there. Strychnine.”
“Strychnine?” My stomach heaved looking at the perfectly ripe and inviting food. “That’s like something out of an Agatha Christie novel.”
“Who?” Theron asked.
“It’s also found in nature,” Daciana said. “From the seeds of a tree. Guys, what are we going to do?”
“What if we just—” Tycho flung his peach over his shoulder.
Movement flashed out of the corner of my eye.
The statue beside him roared up and swung, smashing his fist into Tycho’s head. Tycho threw out of the way at the last moment, sending the punch through the stone chairback. We screamed as it pulverized into pieces.
“Not that!” Tycho bellowed. “Definitely not that!”
The stone creature reclaimed his seat, but the message was clear. We were allowed only one way to make this food disappear, and it was down our throats.
We stared at each other, not knowing what to do.
Nitsa visibly swallowed. “Dare I ask,” she rasped to Daciana, “what the effects of strychnine poisoning are?”
“Muscle spasms, lung failure, death.”
“I knew I shouldn’t have asked.”
“We have to do something,” Ionna cried. “It’s either we eat poisoned food, or we slowly starve to death.”
“Is that what your visions say?” I asked.
“They don’t have to.” She flailed helplessly against the restraints. “We don’t have any other options.”
“You’re right, we don’t have any other options.” Daciana breathed hard through her nose, fists balling. “That’s why I have to do it.”
“Excuse me?” I cried.
“I’m a werewolf. You all are demigods, but you heal like mortals. Werewolves don’t. I can do this,” she said, dumping the food from my plate to hers. “I’ll get us out of here.”
“Wait.” I grabbed her arm. “Do you heal so fast you can’t be poisoned?”
