Page 178 of Fallacies

That seems to be enough for him because he throws his polishing rag down and scurries off to the bread baskets.

Alone with the glasses, I finish placing the rest on a round tray, checking over my shoulder before I dig through the pocket at my side.

Salem was only able to find five Espervane berries—a fatal fruit according to him. The skin around the berry is safe, but the inside is deadly. One drop of the juice in my system and I’d only have a couple of hours before my heart stops beating.

I work quickly, pulling a thick glove over my left hand and using the tip of a knife to slice the white skin off the first berry. Shielding my body so I’m blocking the kitchen's view of the tray, I run the fruit along the rim of the first glass.

The poisonous residue shines as it hits the light, but if I wasn’t looking for it, I wouldn’t notice it was there.

I toss the berry into the garbage and peel back the skin of another, adrenaline sparking in my veins. By the time I’ve lined four glasses with Espervane and set them carefully back on the tray, my hands are shaking with anticipation.

“Alesi!” The boy comes running back, and I flinch, whirling around to face him. “The Umbra needs the glasses—” He stops abruptly, noticing my gloved hand.

Panic flares in my chest. “I didn’t want to get fingerprints on the glass,” I tell him.

He remains skeptical, and I do everything I can to keep fear off my face, strengthening my illusion and forcing my body to remain still.

The boy raises a brow, and my shoulders slump in relief when he dismisses the suspicion with a loose shake of his head. “Whatever.” He reaches for the tray. “Give me those.”

I lift it before he can grab it, balancing the tray carefully on my hand. “I’ve got it.”

I don’t give him a chance to argue, pushing past him to navigate my way through the busy kitchen. The Umbra’s back is turned when I pass, too focused on something over the stove.

The glassware wobbles as I push through the door and into the dining room, keeping my head down in an attempt to be invisible. Too focused on my task to pay attention to the conversation being had, I circle the table, setting empty glasses in front of each guest.

Mr. Fairbourne is unfolding his napkin when I set his shiny-rimmed cup down. Our other source, Vance—the man I saw brutally assault Callan’s father—is lazily reclined in his chair when the stem of his tainted glass hits the table. I’m fighting a smile as I move to the next guest.

We needed something that wouldn’t cause a scene or raise any alarm before I was able to signal Callan and start the real distraction, and a slow-acting poison was the best option.

The more time we have to get rid of the sources before the rest of the Estate is aware, the better. If the Rogues suspect something is wrong, their attention might shift to the Captures—exactly where we don’t want it.

I set the next glass on the white tablecloth in front of the Countess, who is too busy in a side conversation with the woman to her right to even notice. Soon after, a servant enters from the kitchen with a bottle of red wine, pouring the deep burgundy liquid into each cup.

Exhaling a steadying breath, I move to the back of the room, sliding the tray onto a small cart before turning my back to it.

One glass remains. One source left.

I look over at the dining table, meeting a pair of bright blue, crystalline eyes that—if I’m not mistaken—are almost prideful.

I’m tempted to smile. Tempted to feel relieved. But we aren’t finished yet.

Salem blinks, and the emotion vanishes. He rises from his chair, grabs his glass, and taps his knife lightly against it. The attention of the room instantly shifts in his direction.

“I’d like to make a toast,” The Hound announces, sweeping his gaze over the guests. He glances once to the kitchen, then looks pointedly at the Countess. “Where is the Umbra?”

“The Umbra?” Her golden eyes narrow. “She doesn’t join our dinners.”

“I’ve noticed,” he cuts back. “However, I’m leaving tomorrow.”

At the Hound’s announcement, the Countess straightens in her chair, sharing a smug look with the woman beside her.

“And I’d really like to thank her for all of these fabulous meals.”

It takes monumental effort not to roll my eyes.

The Countess is too elated with the news that he’s leaving to care much about his request anymore. She looks up at the servant pouring her wine, an elated grin pulling at her red-painted lips. “Get the Umbra, would you?”

The girl nods, turning in the direction of the kitchen, and I intercept her, offering to take the bottle off her hands.