Free Dark Jenny by Alex Bledsoe

stood right beside me, again as still and quiet as a statue.
    Iris shook her head, laughed, and held out her hand. “Okay, let me see that broken battering ram of yours.”
    She turned my hand palm-up. “Wiggle your fingers for me.” I did, though the movement was minimal. “Okay, I don’t think you broke anything, but they’re jammed up awfully good. Did no one ever show you how to throw a punch?”
    “I’m self-taught. And impulsive.”
    “Be careful who you admit that to.” She met my eyes, and the playfulness left her. “I need to straighten them out, and it’s going to hurt. Do you want something for the pain?”
    “No. I need to keep my wits about me.”
    She grinned with one side of her mouth; it was adorable. “Well, at least they shouldn’t take up much room.”
    She turned her back to me and put my free arm under hers. I could smell whatever lavender concoction she used on her black, silky hair. She held my wrist with her left hand, and my index finger with her right. “All right, here’s one.”
    If someone had driven a metal rod from my fingertip straight up my arm, it would’ve hurt less. The crack sounded like a sledgehammer hitting a rotted board. “That wasn’t so bad,” I squeaked. Sweat stung my eyes.
    “Now two,” she said without a pause. The pain was less intense, if only because I wasn’t over the first one yet.
    “Can I ask you something?” I croaked.
    She wasn’t one to be distracted. “Sure. Now three.”
    I was basically on fire from my right shoulder on down and gasped, “Do you know anything about poisons?”
    “They’re bad for you, as a rule. Last one. And this little piggy went … snap.”
    And, boy, did it. “Oh, we’re done?” I said casually. I wasn’t sure it was audible outside my own head.
    “Wipe your eyes,” she said as she released my arm.
    After a couple of deep breaths, I realized my hand actually hurt a little less and I could move my fingers a lot more freely. I slumped on the stool and said, “What about specific ones?”
    “Specific eyes?” She poured me a drink from the decanter Kay had opened earlier.
    “Specific poisons.”
    She test-moved my fingers and seemed satisfied with the results. “You’re a sword jockey, aren’t you?”
    “Yeah. Do you disapprove?”
    “Everyone has to do something. Right, Tom?”
    Gillian raised one eyebrow. For him it was the equivalent of a burst of laughter.
    Iris asked me, “So what poisons were you interested in?”
    “Just one. Shatternight.”
    She didn’t pause to think. “Acts very rapidly. Boils you alive inside. No known antidote. Distinctive odor. And it doesn’t grow on this island.”
    “And it’s what killed that knight at the banquet.”
    She frowned, and a stray lock of black hair fell over her forehead. “How do you know?”
    I used my shackled good hand and brought out the apple. Gillian did not resist the movement. I held it for Iris to sniff. She said, “That’s it, all right. You’re a man of many talents.”
    “Especially when it comes to things that might kill me.” I’d encountered shatternight where it grew wild, deep in the forests of Oconomo, and once narrowly avoided getting dosed with it. “So where on Grand Bruan would someone get shatternight?”
    “Beats me. It has no medicinal value. And it would have to be brought from the south, across the channel, because it won’t grow in this climate. Plus it loses its potency pretty rapidly once it’s been picked, I believe.”
    “So whoever poisoned these apples would have been outside Grand Bruan in the recent past, correct?”
    She cocked her head. “ You came from outside Grand Bruan, I believe, didn’t you?”
    “True. But I’m not the murderer.”
    She glanced at my shackles and deadpanned, “That’s a relief.”
    She took my injured hand and lightly massaged my fingers. Her touch was strong, sure, and yet delicate. Since I couldn’t really seduce her with Gillian standing right there, I continued to