I don’t like how he revels in the words as if he enjoys telling this grim tale. But I do like how the queen looks even paler. She looks from me to the fountain of wine and back again.
“Where did you say you found him?” she asks, and her voice is almost strong.
“In the wine cellars, Majesty,” the grim fae behind me says, his words slurred by the lower incisors that stick up through his lip. His grip on my right arm grows tighter. Even hired muscle knows when to be afraid.
The queen looks at the fountain of wine and then at me and her eyes glint. With a hand so fast I don’t see it, she slashes out at me with her silver dagger, slicing my right cheek and then the left. They burn with the sharp pain of sliced flesh. And with an evil gleam, she leans in close.
“I have drunk none of that wine, fool fae. I never do and neither do my generals or those favored of my court. You have missed your chance. And for the rest of tonight, the tables will turn, and the joke will be on you for I will drink only your blood and there will be so much of it spilled that all those who please me may have as much as they like.”
She licks my cheek where she has cut me, and I do not grimace. My heart is pounding too hard. It keeps thundering in my ears as they collect the blood from my wounds and share it with her favorites.
“Someone play a tune!” She calls and a lute begins its song before she’s even seated. It’s a merry tune, lively and rollicking. The perfect kind of tune to be poisoned to, or so I always thought. There’s nothing like getting the blood pumping when it’s full of some toxin or the other.
And I do not know if it is because the plan is working, or if it is because I’ve drunk the poison, but either way, I feel lightheaded and like I’m watching someone else. I can feel a stupid grin forming on my face at the sound of a drum joining the lute.
By the time they taste my toxin, it’s already potent. It isn’t Deaddrop poison like the bearded man thought. It’s Culigula. It takes a while to work its magic if you take it straight, but mixed with fae blood, it works very quickly indeed. They’re all just as poisoned as I am the moment they taste my blood.
I don’t know why fae are so obsessed with blood. I suspect it has something to do with our immortality and the jealousy we can’t help but feel that mortals will never taste ennui as we do. The spice of death is nothing compared to the blandness of long ennui. ‘Tis a feast that eats you back – and from the inside.
I bide my time. But I cannot wait too long. After all, I am dying too.
It doesn’t help that they’ve slashed me all over my arms, chest, and abdomen. They’re shallow cuts to bleed me, not to kill, but all this blood loss is speeding the effects of the draught.
When sweat breaks across my brow and the first tremor takes me, I clear my throat and speak.
Now, for the second act in this little drama.
I am ready.
“I thank you, dear queen, for your excellent hospitality, but I am also fae, and so I cannot accept your gifts without offering something in return.”
“Gifts?” she asks, laughing. She’s seated at her head table now, laughing with her inner circle. They haven’t even told the rest of her court that they think their wine is poisoned. They’re dissecting the honey-roasted boar head that has been laid before them, apple in its mouth and all. For some reason, I can’t bear to look at the apple. It reminds me too much of the Seer. “Would you call what we’ve given you tonight gifts?”
“I would,” I say easily. I do not feel easy about this, but my tone is utterly key to pulling this off. “And I feel this so strongly that I would offer you a gift in return. The gift of truth.”
“Shall we hear his gift, my court?” The queen asks. She is answered with snickers from those around her. “Why not. Entertain us, fool son of a craven court. Plead for your life or offer up the secrets of your icy realm. We are all ears.”
I smile and let the pause hang in the air for a moment before I speak. “The poison, dear Queen, is not in the wine but in the blood.”
Her table goes silent, merriments forgotten. They watch me warily as if unsure whether this is a joke.
“But that would mean you poisoned yourself, ice child, and what fool would do that?” she asks lightly, but her gaze is on me and she pales as she sees my hand tremble. Her eyes widen and she looks at my guards. “Let his arms free.”
The moment they drop their grip on me, I collapse, shaking. My teeth rattle together as I try to clench my jaw.
Gasps of horror suck the air from the room. The Queen of the Court of Madness drops her goblet. I hear it hit the floor and roll. I want to feel triumphant, but I am so miserable my triumph is but a shadow.
“It’s not Deaddrop,” I say between my chattering teeth. My sentences come out in short bursts. I’m in too much pain for long speeches. “Though it apes the symptoms. It’s something else. I have the antidote. I’ll give it to you. Bargain with me.”
“What bargain would you make with me, child of ice?” I must have blacked out for a moment because she’s crouched over me now, her perfect face a mask of fury.
She holds my head up by my hair and black strands fall across my eyes obscuring her face.
“I would put a geas on you that would not allow you to make war on any court I call my home,” I say. “And in return, I will give to you my antidote.”
“And how will I know it is not more poison?” she asks.
“You can watch me take it first,” I say. “And see if it cures me.”
